


The Blanchard Swan

by MarshMella



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 117,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarshMella/pseuds/MarshMella
Summary: To much of the world, Emma is a nobody. An orphan. A runaway. She'd accepted that long ago, or so she had believed. And yet, more recently, her most valuable trinket, a diamond pendant, offers the chance for more.But she can't do this alone.With trouble snapping at her heels she and her daemon seek respite amongst pirates...
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 57
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a work in progress for 6 months and I am SO pleased to finally start posting chapters here. I will be posting on a weekly basis as the story is basically complete already.
> 
> This is the first story I've written in a long time, but the moment I binge-watched this show, I knew I had to write something. Just sad it took me so long to discover this amazing show and it's amazing cast of characters.
> 
> This story is set in The Dark Materials universe but no knowledge of the books/TV show is necessary to follow it.

**Chapter 1**

She knew these streets. Knew them so well that even blindfolded she could have found her way. Meandering down cobbled alleyways, skipping lightly over low roofs, darting into narrow passageways and slipping unseen down untrodden paths until, eventually, she would come to a gap in a barbed-wire fence. This gap opened to a steep bank where scraggy grass met the leaden-grey waters of the canal.

That evening, however, she'd struggled to lose her pursuers. Her first means of escape had been blocked by two men searching. No matter, there were other means, and she maintained her calm until her second option and then, more worryingly, her third were also no-goes.

"We must have really pissed them off, today," she growled low in her throat.

"Does this mean...?" came the hesitant voice from her rucksack.

"Yes, Samiran, stay put." She hoisted herself over a garden wall and hunkered down behind the neatly clipped hedges, stalking in their cover until she reached the - thankfully unlocked - gate at the far side. With the most fleeting of glances over her shoulder, she was through the gate and stepping into the busy market square.

"Breathe," came the worried voice from her rucksack.

"Stay hidden, we're not out of trouble yet," she ducked her head to avoid meeting anyone's gaze and shouldered her way through the dispersing crowds, trying to slow her hastening step with a few deep breaths.

A shout went up behind them.

"Take a peek, Sam. Have we been noticed?" she felt the weight shifting in her rucksack, eyes already darting to look for their closest means of escape. The shout rang out again but she dared not look back.

"I can't be certain."

"Can't risk it," she jerked suddenly to the left and broke into a run; her footsteps echoing off of the walls of the stone buildings towering above her.

"Emma! N-no!" her stowaway realised what she planned to do.

"Hold on tight!" she called.

With a burst of speed, she vaulted up the far wall and threw herself over it. The drop felt longer than it truly was, her legs kicking beneath her as she fell. And then the cold water greeted her with a vicious slap and for a moment she was stunned, her limbs motionless, water filling her mouth and nose. It was the insistent tug at her collar that finally shifted her into gear, moving with purposeful strokes. She broke the surface, choking and scrabbling at the bank, pulling herself up until she collapsed against the grass.

A disgruntled Samiran clawed his way out of the bag and fell gracelessly across her lap, chestnut fur darkened by the water. She stroked his head, comforting them both, and coughed again in an attempt to clear her lungs.

"A little more warning next time," her daemon muttered, pulling himself up and dragging a bedraggled paw across his grumpy face. 

Emma laughed and hugged him to her chest.

“We got away, didn’t we?”

And they had, for now at least.

\---

It was dark by the time they reached the moorings; the rows of canal boats lit and inviting. The night carried the delicious scent of supper and the sound of joyous laughter. She tore the hat from her head, golden curls tumbling across her shoulders, and leapt onto one of the boats, ducking down into the narrow living space.

Samiran's paws thumped onto the deck behind her. He chirped out a greeting.

"Ah, and there she is! Our wanderer has returned," called a gruff voice.

"Evening, Granny."

The grey-haired woman eyed her suspiciously, the look mirrored by that of her grizzly bulldog-daemon. "Was just wondering when you were going to be back here, tail between your legs. Heard you've been up to no good today, Emma."

"Oh?"

"Ha! Don't act the innocent with me, girl, you know I can always tell."

"What she means is," a young boy piped up, "there were some men asking after you."

Emma's smile died a little, "no trouble I hope?"

"None at all. Have no worry about that," the older woman assured. "I soon sent them on their way. Now, get yourself some supper...and a change of clothes. You've been for a swim?"

Emma did not need to be asked twice. She peered into the huge pot and ladled some of Granny's hearty stew into a bowl. 

“This looks amazing.”

“She fell in the canal,” Sam answered for her. Her daemon - like most - did not often talk directly to another person, but these people were like family. His openness with them made her heart happy.

“I didn’t fall,” she corrected before sitting down, cross-legged, cradling the bowl in her lap. “I jumped.”

She had barely taken two bites when she heard more feet step into the narrowboat and looked up to see an out-of-breath Ruby pulling the doors to the canal boat closed.

"Emma!" She hissed, "you can't be here!"

Ruby was not a panicker, but the look in her eye could not be described as anything else. She was a feisty beauty, loyal and fierce and brave - her wolf-daemon was proof of that. But at that moment she looked afraid, her daemon shoved up against her hip, whining anxiously.

"What's going on?" Samiran asked when Emma - mouth full of food - just stared wordlessly.

The two gyptians shared a glance and then Granny was gesturing at the boy, “out you go,” Granny chided and the youngster, who had been seated with his own food, scampered off; his daemon turning into a water vole and cosying up in the collar of his jacket.

Emma paid him no mind.

"Patrol," the wolf growled, curling a lip. His voice, normally regal, was tinged with apprehension.

"They're putting up posters," Ruby replied. "There's a big reward. Emma, what in the world did you do?"

Emma swallowed her mouthful with some difficulty and offered her sister a weak smile. Samiran looked momentarily cowed.

"Emma!" Ruby insisted.

"The less you know, the better. I’m sorry. It was a small job. No one was supposed to see anything. I completely misjudged the situation. I never thought that they’d go so far as putting up _posters._

Both Ruby and the older woman looked ready to argue, though the younger seemed to decide against it.

"Come on, get up," Ruby was pulling at her arm, ignoring her objections, "get dressed. You have to get away from here. At least until this all blows over."

Emma protested as the bowl of stew was pried from her frozen fingers and then Ruby was digging around in the overhead cupboards, thrusting new clothes at her and demanding she get dressed. It was only when Samiran growled sharply that she jolted into action, pulling off her damp gear without ceremony, stripping down to her underwear. 

The new clothes - boy’s clothes, she realised - were thick, soft and warm, though slightly ill-fitting as she settled them over her slight frame.

“Are you done?” Ruby asked.

“Almost,” 

Her dark-haired friend moved to help, rolling up the sleeves of the oversized shirt.

“It’ll have to do,” she continued, tapping a finger to her lip, in thought.

Emma groused, “do I get my stew back, now?”

"Hat first," Ruby barked.

Emma shoved the hat down over her head and took a moment to tuck her hair into it. She shrugged into her worn, leather jacket - still damp - and turned up the collar to protect her bare neck against the impending chill.

"Follow me," the dark-haired girl continued.

"Wait," Granny called, "take this." She handed over a flask of stew and Emma hugged it to her chest like a lifeline.

“Thanks, Granny.”

But the old woman was shaking her head, looking worried, “keep your head down, girlie. Stay safe. You know better than I that it’s a cruel world out there. Stay on the move, stay out of trouble. And come back to us when they give up the chase, hm?”

Emma nodded and then the woman’s strong arms were around her, squeezing her with all the worry and love of a mother - or so she liked to think.

Still, it felt horribly like a _forever farewell._

Emma lived in fear of those sorts of goodbyes.

\---

By the time the two women were back on the main streets - having given the normal pathways a wide berth - they were dark and quiet. The four of them tried to move without a sound, though even the tap of the wolf’s claws seemed terribly loud in the echoey streets.

"This is serious, Emma," Ruby whispered at last, drawing her to a standstill in the thickest of the shadows, "what have you done?"

At her silence, Samiran urged, "tell her, Emma, or I will."

Emma sighed, torn, but another shooting glare from her friend had her responding. 

"I may have broken into one of the Magisterium's archives," she admitted.

Ruby's eyes blew wide.

"You know I had no choice," she started feebly.

"This won't be like last time, Emma. If they catch you..."

"They won't catch me," she shot back, "it's no big deal."

Ruby was speechless and her daemon shifted nervously at her heels. The church bells began to chime out the hour, strangely ominous. Twelve, deeply-intoned notes that haunted the abandoned streets. The following silence felt suffocating.

"You have to get away," Ruby said at last. "I mean it, Emma. There's a hefty bounty on your head. They know who you are, now."

The fear there in her friends eyes had Emma’s gut twisting in slow realisation. She’d been in trouble before, of course, and this felt no different to those times when her punishment would have been a short bout in prison. A half-dozen lashes, perhaps. But this? The coiling dread that this was not the same began to work its way through her. She clenched her trembling hands and pinned them tight to her sides, not wanting her friend to worry. 

Although, from the looks both Ruby and Granny had given her, it was as if they felt they might never see her again. And that couldn’t happen. She wouldn’t let it.

"I'll just keep my head low. Someone else will catch their attention soon enough. It always does."

"I’m not sure. They could put you away for life. Or worse!"

Emma wasn't sure whether anything would be worse than a life behind bars.

“Listen, I love you, Emma. You’ve helped my family so many times and now it’s my turn to help you. Do you trust me?”

Emma nodded wordlessly.

"You know that large inn by the docks?"

"The Three Sailors?"

Ruby nodded, it was no secret that she frequented that particular establishment whenever they were in the area. It was a lively place always playing host to new and interesting faces. Rife with gossip and gambling and testosterone. 

"I was there a few nights back, chatting up the bar staff as I usually do. Picked up on some gossip that might come in handy. Some new ships have come to port, causing quite a stir. There was one in particular that…” she hesitated, “you might be able to sneak aboard, make an escape.”

"And get myself thrown overboard?" Emma replied, only half joking. "Swimming in a canal is one thing. The open sea? I don’t fancy my chances. Don’t you think you might be overreacting?"

"No," Ruby snapped, "I'm not," and tears tracked their way down her cheeks as she unfurled a piece of parchment from her cloak and handed it over. Emma took it hesitantly, lifting it into the lamplight to see what was written on it.

A picture of her face, sketched crudely in black and white, stared back at her. It was more accurate than she would have believed. And the reward? Well, it was enough to motivate even close friends into giving up information. And that was the jist of it. That's what had Ruby so afraid. The gyptians were Emma's friends but they were not her people. Eventually one of them would give up information and she'd be left without a home and responsible for putting those she loved at risk.

And, if they found Granny harboring a fugitive, there was no telling what they’d do.

"You could buy passage," Ruby continued, "escape across the sea."

"Even if I could, who'd risk allowing me on board? I’m a criminal. If they figured it out, they’d probably cash in the reward themselves. That’s what I’d do."

Ruby hesitated, her hand reaching out to draw Emma closer.

"There might be someone."

Emma could tell from Ruby’s tone that she wasn’t convinced, knew it would probably be a terrible idea. Ruby was a trustworthy sort but her judgement was not foolproof. Her own intuition prickled with warning, but she pressed on anyway.

"Who?"

"It could be a big gamble...maybe I shouldn’t..."

"Ruby..."

"That ship I mentioned. Word is that it belongs to pirates.”

“Pirates,” Emma repeated dully.

“Yes, but not just any pirates. The captain is the so-called Captain Hook.”

"Ah," Emma said. Even she knew the man, or rather, the reputation _behind_ the man. And if Ruby thought that she might fare better bartering with an infamous pirate captain, than that spoke volumes.

“Wouldn’t a pirate be the first to sell me out? I’d be easy money.”

“Perhaps, as they’re not locals, they wouldn’t pick up on things like this. You could barter passage and make your escape across the sea.”

“Look, as it stands, I shouldn’t catch too much attention. I can probably blag my way aboard a ship, wait out the storm somewhere else, and come find you when it's over.”

Ruby said nothing, just hugged her tight.

Emma felt the impending parting like a fist in her chest, standing rigid and unmoving as Ruby finally pulled back to whisper her goodbyes.

“Please,” Ruby said, “don’t underestimate them. Get away from here.” 

Emma’s eyes burned as she pressed on alone, refusing to let any tears fall. It was just another parting in her life. It wasn’t the first but maybe it would be the last.

\---

With Samiran tucked away in her rucksack once more, Emma leaned across the bar of the Three Sailors and waved over the barkeeper. 

She’d been tired anyway, but having trekked through the dark, cold streets to end up in a place that felt overly warm and stuffy, she could feel her eyes beginning to droop. Feared that blinking too slowly might end up with her dozing off. She pinched herself hard on the inside of her elbow and forced herself to straighten, busying herself with taking in her surroundings.

Despite the late hour the tavern was a hive of activity. New ships meant starved sailors eager for drink, food and women. This hovel had all three aplenty.

A busty waitress with a pretty little dove-daemon giggled at the teasing from a table of inebriated sailors. They jeered at her as she passed with a tray and for a few coins she gave them pause. She was pulled into a lap, kissed on every bit of skin on show and shared around the table.

It made her skin crawl, but who was she to judge? She’d never been in that sort of situation but she’d certainly indulged in her fair share of one-nighters - though not for a while, admittedly. 

"Can I help you, lad?"

Emma turned her back on the waitress, glad for the distraction.

"I'm looking for someone," She said in as masculine a voice as she could muster, "a Captain by the name of Hook. I was told I could find him here."

The barkeeper's face looked suddenly wary and immediately he stepped back, "sorry, can't help you. You'd best keep those sorts of questions to yourself. If you know what’s good for you, I mean."

“Hey,” she held up both hands, “just looking for work, is all.”

She felt Samiran shift anxiously against her back and sighed, pushing herself away from the bar, realising this might not be as easy as it might have initially seemed.

Another glance at the patrons milling around gave her no hint as to who she might be looking for. All of the sailors looked a little unkempt. Any one of them could have been a pirate and she wouldn’t have been surprised. 

“This might take a while,” she muttered.

And she was right.

The first night had been a fruitless venture and, after a time, exhaustion got the better of her. She had no desire to go tracking back and forth across the harbour in an attempt to find a pirate ship. At a glance they all looked much the same in the lamplight. Mostly wooden. Furled sails. Dark against a steadily paling sky.

"We need sleep," her daemon eventually suggested and Emma could do nothing but agree. 

She curled up amongst the drunkards and the homeless and drifted for a couple of hours until the hustle and bustle of morning drove her back to wakefulness. She spent the day wandering in an exhausted stupor, finishing the last of the stew and huddling in empty doorways. With all the comings and goings, it was at least easy to stay unnoticed, dodging patrols who were more intent on keeping the sailors in check. 

The following evening she visited a different tavern but with much the same results.

"No one is going to tell us anything, Sam." She grumbled, "this is a lost cause. Let's just stay here a while. We’ll catch a train in a few days and head to one of the neighbouring cities for a few weeks. We can catch up with Ruby when they move further north."

"I hope this was all worth it," Samiran mumbled sadly.

"Of course it was," she whispered back, though at that moment - cold and hungry - she did start to wonder.

“You need food,” her daemon grumbled.

“Need sleep more,” she retorted, “let’s get out of here. Quiet, now.”

She moved with purpose, leaving the glow of the tavern windows and headed across the courtyard, turning into a narrow alleyway that would lead back towards the docks where they had spent the previous night. It felt as safe as any place she could have chosen. The shadows were quiet but there were others milling around. A cursory glance would have most people thinking she was male.

Besides, being homeless meant being faceless. People had the tendency to pass you by, to keep their eyes firmly diverted in the opposite direction. That’s what she needed right then. To be ignored.

She hunkered down in her ‘spot’ amongst the shadows, heart clenching with sadness at how easy it was to return to the shelterless life of her childhood and fell into an uneasy sleep. Old instincts rearing forth as if she’d never let go of them at all.

The cold crept into her bones as the night progressed and she woke, once again with the dawn, stiff and numb.

Another night. Another tavern. Yet still no one was willing to give her any information. One of the men laughed at her question. The second just stared at her as if she were mad.

“Why would you want to work with folk like that?”

With the amount of secrecy surrounding this pirate captain, Emma couldn’t help but think he was still in the local vicinity. After all, what reason would there be to evade her questions if he was halfway across the world? 

Tonight, however, something was different. There was a ripple of tension that followed her wherever she went. It put a troubling urgency in her step. Had her startling at every sudden noise.

At first she had thought it might be the Magisterium. There had been a couple more police on patrol that evening. But now...now she wasn't so sure. 

It was unsettling enough that she abandoned the streets for the Three Sailors once again, nursing a cheap beverage until closing time. The rowdy patrons filtered out into the night and she left with them, mingling effortlessly in an attempt to escape her watchers - imagined or otherwise.

And then she was alone again, her step hasty as she took the path back to the waterfront, opting for a shortcut through a number of small passageways she’d found earlier that day.

Samiran walked a few paces ahead, cautious and silent, his ears turning at every sound. The fur on his neck was bristling, his tail thrashing.

Her instinct to flee surged.

She wasn’t imagining it. Something was wrong.

"Sam, let's--"

The shadows moved and, before she could even throw up her defenses she was being shoved violently against the wall, sharp brickwork pressing into her chest and jaw.

Samiran yowled, angry and pained.

But Emma had never been one to back down from a fight. Especially not if it meant her life - or her freedom.

Adrenaline flooded through her and with an angry roar, she tried to twist free, leading with her elbow. Her first blow drove into her attacker’s ribs, the expelled breath that followed a small victory. And, before he could recover and her arm could be pinned, she struck again, taking advantage of the immediate lessening of his grip. She wrenched free, ignoring the tear of fabric and slammed the heel of her hand straight into her assailant’s face.

His grip tightened on her upper arm and, as she clenched her hand into a fist and made to strike him again, he dodged. Using her shift in body weight to his advantage, he spun her back into the wall, the length of his forearm pressed across her chest, just below her collarbones.

And then he brought an end to their fistfight with the glint of a blade, its edge pressed to her throat.

"Back off, or I kill her," the voice sounded more amused than angry, directing his words to her daemon who was spitting and snarling.

"Sam," she struggled to speak, her voice sounding hoarse and weak. It angered her.

"No sudden moves or this won't end well for you," her attacker warned, but as he relented his hold a little - clearly convinced she’d been subdued - Emma lunged again. She dropped out from beneath his blade and took off, glad for the sound of Sam running up beside her.

“Where to?” he called, his voice strangely shrill, as he spied the dead end they’d run into.

“Up! Up!” She shoved him up onto the top of the wall and made to follow, putting all of her strength into vaulting up to join him.

Too slow.

She let go of the wall just a moment too late, spinning to face her assailant just as his fingers closed with bruising force around her throat. Instinctively she twisted her shoulders but, in an easy, fluid motion, he’d hooked a knee behind hers and twisted her to the ground, pinning her there with a hand at her throat and his body over hers, knees resting either side of her hips.

Her breathing was harsh, though his was not much better - a realisation that pleased her. She'd taken him by surprise, even if it might cost her dearly.

Samiran, still atop the wall, arched his back and hissed, all teeth and glinting eyes, but her attacker simply clicked his tongue in warning and maintained his hold, hovering over her.

"So tell me," he continued, seeming unfazed by her near escape, "why would a woman, disguised as a man, be asking after a pirate captain? In such an impetuous manner, too. Not showing much sense now, is it?" The poor light above their heads cast him entirely in shadow, though no doubt he could see her better now that her face was upturned to it.

"Let me go and I'll tell you." She probably shouldn’t have been relieved that her attacker was a pirate, but somehow that seemed better than if he had been a member of law enforcement.

"I think you can talk just as well from down there," his voice turned suggestive and she bared her teeth and bucked her hips upwards in an attempt to dislodge him, realising too late the intimacy of the move she had made, her pelvis bumping up against his spread thighs.

He laughed, amused, "another time, another place and those hips of yours might have moved me, love, but not today."

"I have need of a ship," she finally ground out, seething through clenched teeth.

"But why this ship, specifically?"

"I need someone who’s not afraid to cross the law."

"So a job offer, then?"

She nodded, wishing he'd loosen his hold on her throat. The edges of her vision were beginning to close in, her lungs rasping.

"Well then!" he suddenly exclaimed, "why didn't you just say so?" and without warning he was on his feet, stepping back with the sort of grace that might have been attractive if he hadn't just sprung at her from the dark.

She touched her throat tenderly as she stood, turning to see Samiran being eyed by a dark-furred daemon with strangely luminent, beautiful eyes.

"Follow me," he continued without preamble. 

"Are you okay?" Sam asked quietly. Defeated.

Emma just nodded and trailed after the pirate at a distance, hoping that - with every step - she wasn't about to land herself into even greater danger.

\---

It turned out that she was being led back to the Three Sailors - through a seperate door that opened into something akin to an office. One wall was stacked with barrels, another with crates of fresh produce and, just off-center stood a rickety desk that housed only a bundle of papers and a small naphtha lamp - the only source of light. Some wooden chairs had been stacked by the door and the pirate grabbed one as he entered, thrusting it down and motioning for her to sit.

She did so cautiously, watching as he unhurriedly poured himself a drink and helped himself to the produce. Only then did he turn on the anbaric lights and move to sit across from her. 

Despite the smooth, lightly accented voice, she had not been prepared to find the man had an appearance to match. Young - around her age - with classic features, startling eyes and mussed dark hair. He was lean and dangerous, dressed mostly in black, and admittedly rather easy on the eyes.

But then, he was looking at her with a strange, knowing wonder in his eye - until he cleared his throat and busied himself with his beverage.

He took a swig of his drink and then, almost as an afterthought, offered it to her, raising a brow in question.

Emma shook her head, trying not to curl her lip in disgust.

He laughed, "suit yourself. You look as if you could do with it, though. Or maybe you're after something else...?"

She bristled at his leer, refusing to look away as he let his eyes wander. In truth, her current garb gave very little away. The men’s clothes were baggy, barely hinting at her figure - though that seemed not to have put him off.

It was a shame, really. If he had not been a pirate, she might have taken him up on that offer. Would have relished having those eyes on her as she rode him into oblivion. He probably knew his way around a woman, too. She might have had fun.

His daemon - a black, short-haired cat with the most enchanting stare - leapt up to drape herself across his shoulders. He seemed to soften then, perhaps in the way his shoulders relaxed under the weight of his lounging daemon.

"She is pretty," the cat spoke softly. Agreeably.

Sam chose that very moment to leap up onto Emma's lap, set his weighty paws against the edge of the desk and scowl across at them.

The pirate's gaze fell to her daemon and for a long moment nothing was said.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said that wasn't the strangest cat I'd ever seen," he commented at last.

Emma bristled. Her daemon was unusual but not especially eye-catching. He was a short-legged creature with rich, chestnut fur (plain but for the touch of white at his eyes and muzzle) and a wide, almost rudder-like tail. His eyes were gold-green and set in a small, flattened head topped with rounded ears. His face looked noble if not friendly and at that moment it looked downright fierce.

"He's a jaguarundi."

The pirate shrugged.

"An otter cat," she added, thinking it a more simple but better name for her daemon. He did indeed look like some strange combination of the two.

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand, took another drink and turned the conversation back to business.

"Now tell me, lass. Why do you require a ship?"

"I need passage across the sea."

"Aye," he replied, a knowing smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Of course. Well...that will cost a tidy little sum and seeing as you've been sleeping out in the streets, I'm guessing you have little to offer."

"I could earn my keep," she replied, not trying to think too hard about this man watching her as she’d slept.

"And what would you know about life aboard a ship?"

"Look," Emma tried to keep the exasperation from her tone, "if I could just talk to your captain, I'm sure some agreement could be reached."

The man blinked, looking suitably put out. "My captain? Who is it you think you're talking to, lass?"

She bit back her immediate response: his lackey.

The black cat looked suddenly amused, her tail twitching. "Maybe you weren't intimidating enough?" she chirped, teasing.

The pirate shrugged his daemon off and she landed neatly on the desk where she sat and curled her tail around herself.

"It's you," Emma mumbled, "you're Captain Hook."

His grin was half terrible and half beautiful, much like the man himself.

"Let me guess, expecting someone older? Gold teeth? Flamboyant hat?"

Emma rocked back on her chair's legs, "well, yeah, sure."

"Look, love, I haven't got all night. We set sail in four days and I'm not offering you safe passage out of the kindness of my heart. My crew won't be agreeable unless they know they're going to get something out of the deal."

"Unless their captain tells them to stay out of it." Emma retorted.

He laughed again, finishing his drink and slamming it down against the desk, "I don't do anything for free and I'm not particularly looking for someone to warm my bed, so unless--"

"--Enough. I have something of value." She swung her rucksack onto the desk and fumbled around for the drawstring bag inside.

"No," Sam started, but she shut him down with a look, thrusting the small velvet pouch across the desk.

He upturned the bag and pushed the contents idly around the desk. The extravagant rings on his fingers made her trinkets look horribly worthless.

The black cat moved to investigate, too, touching her delicate muzzle to a large pendant encrusted with stones that looked suspiciously like diamonds. He lifted it between thumb and forefinger.

“Where are you looking to go?”

“Eventually, northern Brytain. For now? Anywhere.”

"I can work with that,” with a thoughtful look he pocketed the treasure. “I do believe that concludes our business." He swept to his feet, helped himself to another drink and turned to her one last time. "Dock twenty-one, love. Sunrise, four days from now. Don't be late."

When he was gone, Emma hesitated only a moment before filling her bag with produce from the crates. Then, shouldering her stolen provisions, she scooped up her rejected treasures and slipped back out into the night.

"You gave him your pendant," Sam whispered sadly.

"The only reason I kept the damned thing was in case I needed the money and now I do."

"But you gave it to a _pirate_."

"We're out of options, Sam. I'm sorry. I should have listened to you. Stealing from the Magisterium. It was a bad plan."

"It wasn't a bad plan," the jaguarundi replied, "we were just unlucky."

"Well, let's hope our luck is on the up."

The next few days were spent ducking and diving, eventually retreating completely from the streets as the patrol obviously widened their search. Taverns were investigated and people were questioned. She even overheard people talking about her as she passed them by. And, of course, with the patrol came the wanted posters. She itched to take them down but dared not, knowing it would only confirm her presence.

"What if the pirates notice?" Sam asked the night before they were to set sail. "For all that your pendant is worth, it's nothing compared to the bounty."

"We can't think about that," Emma replied, "else it'll all seem hopeless."

She huddled, cold in the dark and wished that she could be back on the canal with Ruby and Granny, sharing their meal and telling them stories of her escapades. Granny had always warned that one day she'd push too far and it seemed she’d been right. The Magisterium were tiring of her and her persistence in 'disturbing the peace'.

Sam curled up against her chest that night but, between the cold and the anxiety, neither of them got much sleep.

She was awake before the sun, strolling down the uneven, cobbled road just as the first light sighed into existence.

"Do you think he'll be there?" Sam mumbled, shivering from where she had him wrapped in the folds of her coat.

Emma didn't really want to think about that. Betrayal was too real a possibility; the edge too thin and treacherous to be walking. She'd put her faith in Ruby. Placed her life in the hands of a murderous pirate. Sense told her that she should turn back. Find a new plan. Cut her hair. Dye it black. Tattoo her face. Rely on no one but herself. But there was something about this 'Captain Hook'. Something that she couldn't quite place her finger on.

"Did you see his daemon?" she asked, breath catching on the air.

"The black cat."

"She was beautiful," Emma replied. Sleek and glossy and elegant. There had been a refined look to her and a depth to her eyes that was hard to come by. How could it be that a pirate had a daemon like that?

Samiran said nothing, just huddled closer, and they walked in silence along the harbour until they reached the ship that would be either an end or a salvation.

The ship itself was remarkably silent, silhouetted against the first moments of dawn. There was nothing but the sound of the sea lapping against its sides and the creak of the ropes swinging from the masts. It appeared to be a well-kept vessel, despite its pirate crew, and even she - who knew nothing about ships - could admit that there was something quite beautiful about this one. The crew, however, were either vacant or sleeping. There was no one around at all, not even someone posted on watch. 

She stepped up to the gangplank and paused only momentarily before crossing to the ship’s side, planting her hands on the railing. Was it okay to just invite herself aboard? It felt a lot like trespassing.

"Let's leave, Emma." Samiran said with a shudder, speaking her thoughts aloud.

"No." She pulled herself up tall and, with a held breath, stepped onto the deck. For an absurd moment she thought that the sound of her boots might bring the crew running, but when her intrusion was met with nothing, she forced herself to relax.

Perhaps this wasn’t even his ship, after all. Would he have lied? Pointed her in the wrong direction whilst making off with his reward? 

She was cross that she hadn’t considered that possibility until that very moment.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” she started, though the words were barely out of her mouth before she heard the sounds of a door and heavy footsteps.

She turned towards the direction of the sound and there he was. The pirate captain with the beautiful daemon. He was standing across from her, looking half asleep and half undressed and, somehow, rather beautiful himself. He blinked, rifled fingers through bed-mussed hair and then relaxed his posture into something bordering flirtatious.

She could not help but notice the fading bruise on his face from where she had struck him in the alley.

"A little keen, aren’t we?" he smiled. "You've chosen a good time for a dalliance. The rest of the crew are indulging in their last night on land. We have the place to ourselves." He spread his arms wide, gesturing at the ship around them.

"And you? You're not...indulging?"

"Who's to say I wasn't waiting to indulge in you, love?"

She clenched her fists and, two paces ahead, Samiran bristled. The black feline dipped forwards, rubbing along his tensed side. Playful. Flirting. Teasing. He jerked away from her touch and hissed.

Hook watched the exchange with a laugh and, crooking a brow, beckoned for her to follow.

She did so, descending the stairs into a room that was clearly his quarters. It was not what she expected at all. It was almost...cosy. The wood held a warm scent to it, mingled with that of books, maps and ink that was strikingly reminiscent of a library. The bed was neatly made which meant he’d likely not made use of it and the table - the centrepiece of the room - was strewn with maps and strange instruments that, she supposed, had something to do with seafaring. 

He was standing by the table and watching her with unguarded curiosity. His daemon curled around the leg of the captain’s chair, pausing to glance back over her shoulder. It made her feel uneasy. Vulnerable.

"We've still got a deal, right?" she said, flushing under their scrutiny now that her perusal had come to an end.

"I'm many things, love, but I don't go back on my word. Now, you've paid for your passage and it's an easy enough job, we just need to go over a few rules."

"Rules?"

“Aye. Life on a ship is hard and, well, I’m not going to lie to you, lass. It can also be boring. If you want to help out, then by all means. Just...do so under tuition. We don't want any accidents. Once the crew is back, I’ll introduce you to my officers, but any general questions can be directed towards the quartermaster, Smee. He can set you up with work if that’s what you choose.”

“What sort of work?”

He cast his gaze over her again and she straightened, “that all depends on you. You don’t strike me as the sort of woman who is happy with food prep.”

“I can cook,” she snapped back, hating herself for the need to defend herself with a lie. She really, really couldn’t cook. “I just don’t want to.”

He smiled again, an amused thing that almost had her echoing the expression.

“Sailing across treacherous waters does come with its risks.”

“I'm not afraid of danger."

"Aye, I imagine not."

"Will...your crew have issues with me being onboard?"

“No. I’ll warn you, some of them can be...far less gentlemanly than I, but, as far as they’re concerned, you’re a paying customer. You’ll be bedding in separate quarters with our other passenger.”

"Other?"

"What? You think you're the first to barter their way to freedom?" He leaned towards her and the warmth radiating from his body had her breath catching, her eyes skipping briefly across his chest where his shirt had been left unlaced. She swallowed thickly and forced herself to take a step back.

 _Breathe_.

He reached for her anyway, pulling the hat from her head and watching as the waves of her golden hair tumbled down around her face. No doubt it looked a state, having been curled into that hat for days, but he said nothing about her dishevelled appearance.

Instead he 'hmm-ed', as if clarifying something he'd already known and then turned from her, "up the stairs, turn right, through the second door, down the stairs, farthest door." 

She left before he could say anymore, following his relaid instructions to where she would be staying during the journey. 

As it turned out, the cabin was tiny with four narrow beds barely big enough for a grown adult. Still, compared to a cold pavement, this was luxury. With a huge sigh, she threw her bag down to use as a pillow, kicked off her boots and huddled under her coat, glad to be out of the wind and frost.

Sleep came with surprising ease.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma didn’t awaken again until she heard the sounds of the crew shouting above her and realised that they were already moving, the slow roll of the ship a strange sensation that she knew would take time getting used to. Fabulous! All she needed was to add seasickness to the list of miserable things that had happened to her in recent days.

Across from her, in the bottom bunk, she saw that someone had left their belongings. She felt strangely uncomfortable at having not been woken by someone else entering the room. 

She must have been more exhausted than she had originally thought...

Sitting up stiffly, Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched out the kinks in her spine. Sam arched his own back and she smoothed the fur on his neck with a gentle touch.

"Well, no going back now," she stated with a smile.

"I guess we can cross 'consorting with pirates' off of our list," Sam replied in amusement.

Shoving her feet back into her boots, she turned to spill the contents of her bag out across her bunk. All of her worldly possessions lay inside: some articles of clothing, her stolen good (a bundle of papers), her velvet bag of trinkets, a small crocheted blanket, a roll of leather concealing two small daggers, containers of herbal birth control and toiletries that perhaps were her most prised possessions of all. Homeless and penniless for so long, she still recalled the day she’d had enough money to buy a luxury, scented bar of soap. It was ridiculous, really, how much joy those fragrant suds had brought her - how much they still did. 

With a sigh, she took a moment to brush out her hair and set about tucking it back into her hat.

She slipped back out onto the deck, pausing to lean across the rail, looking back at the dwindling land behind them. A land that held everything she had ever known, even if much of it had been unhappy. The physical separation was cathartic. Old hurts left to wither and die on that shore; their shadows clinging to nothing but a fading wanted poster of a girl who no longer seemed to exist.

"Look," Sam called her back to herself and she turned. Turned to see the bow cutting through the sea and the crew’s daemons - most of which seemed to be of the seabird variety - flocking above them. It was quite a sight, the increasing speed of the ship and the winds allowing them to truly soar.

"Do you miss being able to fly?" she asked, recalling Sam as a steel-headed hawk, back before he had settled.

"Not at all," he replied, leaping up onto the balustrade and rubbing his head against her cheek. “I was never meant for wings.”

Someone cleared their throat behind her and she turned on her heel to see a short, stocky man dressed in a brown wool coat and red hat. He regarded her warily, as if she were a snake poised to lunge. His daemon was tucked inside his matching red scarf - a beady-eyed rat with dark fur and a shrewd intelligence.

“You’re the passenger who bartered passage with the captain, I take it?”

It took her a moment to realise that she’d not given the captain her name. Hadn’t even considered what alias she would use - seeing as Emma was now out-of-bounds. Thankfully, this man didn’t seem too inclined for an introduction and pressed on.

“The captain has been caught up due to our delayed departure. He’s asked me to introduce you to the crew.”

“What about the other passenger?” she asked.

“Already briefed,” he replied as if that was a common thing. Maybe it was. Maybe the other passenger was a criminal, too.

“Okay…” she trailed, trying not to sound too impatient.

“I’m the ship’s quartermaster.”

“Smee?” she ventured.

The man nodded and bustled off across the deck. She hurried to fall into step beside him, peering around curiously at the pirates busy about their work. Some of them certainly looked the epitome of their profession, but for every scary, imposing pirate there was another who appeared no different than a run-of-the-mill sailor. She also spied at least one other woman on deck, deep in discussion and clearly in her element.

“This is the boatswain,” Smee introduced.

The man turned at hearing his rank; his eyes twinkling as he set eye on her. She glared back as his eyes danced freely.

“Oh, aye, not what I expected, that’s for sure,” he dipped his head in her direction, his accent thick but warm. “Will Scarlet,” he introduced, “and this here’s River.”

His daemon - River - was a magpie. A glossy thing with a shimmer of blue in her feathers. She tilted her head curiously and gave a throaty cackle in greeting.

“Let me guess. Thief?” she crossed her arms and eyed him expectantly.

The man - Scarlet - burst into laughter and clapped Smee on the shoulder, “don’t worry mate, she’ll be just fine.”

Emma wasn’t sure how to take that remark. Had they spoken of her? Shared concerns about bringing her on board? They didn’t know her! Unless...unless they did?

Sam tensed visibly and she tried to relax, forcing her muscles to unwind. Surely if they’d connected her to the face on the poster, she wouldn’t be standing here on deck. She’d already be clapped in irons, ready to be hauled off to her untimely end.

“Where’s Locksley?” Smee continued, seeming determined not to be drawn into conversation.

“Up in the heavens, o’course. Where he always is.”

Smee sighed, “Robin Locksley is the sailing master. You can be introduced later.”

“Oh, what? Not going to make me climb up there?” Emma grumbled.

Will was grinning again and Smee, with a gruff sound of displeasure, took his leave.

“Well, he’s a barrel of laughs,” Emma continued.

“Aye, he’s of a nervous disposition, our Smee. He doesn’t like to be taken unawares. You’re an unknown. Puts him in a bad mood.”

“I’m an unknown? But you have other passengers? What’s different about me?”

“We take passengers from time to time but, mostly, they have connections to us. A friend. A family. A friend of a friend, see my meaning?”

Emma just blinked, strangely unsettled by that, “I paid upfront if that’s what everyone is worried about.”

“Don’t worry about it, lass. You’re here now. Smee won’t be any trouble.”

She nodded, cautious.

“You have a name? Captain never mentioned…”

“The captain never asked so he doesn’t know it,” she replied, dismissing herself hastily to avoid further questioning. Scarlet gave her a scrutinising sort of look, though it was a brief thing lost to a shrug. This his attention was back on work and Emma was spared - for the time being at least.

She spent much of the rest of the day curled on her bunk, dipping in and out of sleep. 

The rocking unsettled her empty stomach making her wary of venturing amongst the crew again. The last thing she wanted to do was spit bile over the side of the ship in front of them all.

She was just drifting again when the door to the room opened and she lifted her head to see a woman peering through the gap.

"Pardon me," she bustled meekly into the room, "sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you’d had anything to eat? You didn’t come to sup with the crew so…” she held out a bowl, “thought you could do with a little pick-me-up.”

Emma felt her stomach growl and sat up to accept the food.

“Not found your sea legs, yet?”

“Not quite,” Emma replied, sipping at the hearty soup tentatively.

“Food will help, I promise.” 

“You’re the other passenger?”

“That’s right. My name’s Ashley.” 

She was a petite woman with blonde hair covered with a pretty, blue bandana tied beneath her ponytail. Her daemon was a mouse who was currently snuggled in the pocket of her cotton dress.

All in all, she didn’t seem like the sort of person who would barter their way onto a pirate ship. Mild-mannered, sweet. Perhaps there was more to this little mouse than the eye could see. Still, it was rude to question reasons, particularly when Emma wasn't at all interested in divulging anything about herself.

“I won’t ask your name, because I think you want to keep to yourself, but I thought you should know. Now you’re on this ship, you’re safe.”

She wondered about that. Wondered at the story behind the statement. At the earnestness in the woman’s eyes that made her want to give her trust. In the end all she did was nod and direct her attention to her food.

And that was how the next four days were spent, watching the sea, listening to Ashley sing whilst they worked and avoiding direct conversation with the crew as much as possible. She watched them, though, intrigued by the hustle and bustle of life on board. Some of them gave her wide smiles and friendly winks - particularly the younger lads who, she supposed, were the lowest ranking members. Others ignored her completely, whilst a select few gave her scowls.

The captain, though, was a different matter entirely. Mostly he was absorbed in his work, deep in discussion with his officers or focused on the horizon or dealing with some other issue. Occasionally she would hear his voice rise above the sound of the sea and wind, a barked order, a jest. However, from time to time, she caught him glancing her way. Sometimes his eyes leapt away the moment she looked at him, whilst other times he seemed to want to catch her attention.

"What do you think of him?" Emma asked Ashley on the morning of the fourth day at sea.

"Who?"

"The captain. You've met him, I assume?"

"Of course. He's the reason I'm here in the first place. Sailing across the sea to my one true love and not trapped back there in squalor and misery."

"He's helping you reunite with your ‘one true love’?" She failed to hide her amusement at that, not sure what was more absurd. The captain being party to such a thing or the idea of 'true love' at all.

"Well he's motivated by money, of course. My prince has promised him riches."

"Prince?" Emma balked. Surely this girl couldn't be serious? "If he's a prince, why deal with pirates at all?"

"Ah you know how sailors are. A suspicious sort. Most wouldn't dream of even having a woman onboard. Bad luck, you know. Besides, my fiance knows this particular crew. They owed him a favour and so, here I am.”

“If he’s a prince, can’t he send his own ship?”

“He’s the youngest of five brothers and whilst that affords him many freedoms, the use of a ship for his fiance was not one of them. Besides, the family don’t exactly approve of our union. I’m a commoner, after all.”

“Ah,” Emma thought it all sounded awful and wondered why Ashley had decided that squalor and misery was worse than dealing with upper-class stupidity on a daily basis.

It did at least explain why the woman had travelled with three bulging cases, all squeezed precariously under her bunk.

It seemed, though, that whilst Ashley hadn’t answered her question completely, she had a partial answer. The captain, perhaps, was true enough to his word. He’d repaid this prince for a favour. Kept his word. Maybe Ashley was right. Maybe she was safe here. 

“I’ll fetch the water,” Ashley volunteered, leaving the room.

Emma stood and folded the blankets on her bunk and tucked her rucksack away beneath it before stripping off her nightclothes to share the large pan of water that Ashley had retrieved. She slicked her hair back, tied it into a ponytail and dressed quickly, only just remembering to shove her hat down low over her ears before going to breakfast.

The feel of the ship beneath her feet had become a thing barely noticed now, only making itself known at night when she lay in her bunk and felt herself being rocked gently to sleep. They'd been lucky with the weather too, the seas bright and clear, the sky a shade to match. However, she wondered whether that was about to change when she stepped out to be met by the grey morning sky, laden with nimbus.

\---

At the morning meal there was talk of an imminent stop-off point amongst the crew and Ashley spent the rest of the morning speculating.

“Are we not sailing directly to your prince?” Emma had asked.

“No. They already have a schedule. I’ll have to wait my turn just as you will.”

Emma, with a shrug, left Ashley and the pirate, Cookson, to their food prep and made her way back onto deck where the wind blustered aggressively.

“Come to help scrub the decks?” One of the deckhands called out. She moved to join him and two others who had been set to work maintaining the deck.

“And deprive you of this joy?” Emma gestured at one of the others who was prising up a well-worn board.

“Sharing is caring,” one of the others declared, reminding her just how young some of these lads were.

“What can I help with?” she relented, crouching down to where the other two were just as a wave crashed over the side and soaked the boards beneath their feet.

“Need to get these old boards up, replace them with the new ones, sand them down level and clean this part of the deck.”

“Right.” She sighed, “better show me, then.”

All three of the boys had seabirds for daemons, their noisy chatter keeping them company as they worked. The camaraderie was an easy thing and, by the time they were done - just in time for the main meal - her heart felt lighter than it had in years.

“Come sit with us,” the oldest of the three lads, nicknamed Tide, beckoned her and she moved to join them, their daemons teasing Samiran as they ate.

“So, the word is you’re the captain’s guest?” Tide asked.

She shrugged, not sure how to answer, “I guess? I went to him, we agreed on a price and we made a deal. Is it really so unusual?”

Tide shrugged, “dunno, maybe?”

“We’ve not been here as long as some,” the youngest, Alex, replied.

“Well, as soon as this ship reaches the closest port to my destination, I’ll be on my way. Don’t want any trouble.”

The boys seemed satisfied at that and the chat turned to their next stop. A somewhat regular drop-off, apparently, that they would reach - due to the less favourable winds - late the following day.

Emma left them at the table and spent the rest of the afternoon keeping her head down, hating how there seemed to be questions around her presence. The thoughts plagued her even as evening turned to night and the ship fell silent as the crew slept.

Only when sleep continued to elude her, did she find herself striding back out across the deck, leaning over to watch the moon burnish the waves and the sheer trail left behind by the ship. The rush of sound was still exhilarating and, somehow, ethereal at night. It was certainly a sight she could get used to.

She heard the sound of quiet voices up on the quarterdeck and turned her head curiously, shifting closer to the stairs with near imperceptible movements. Still, by the time she got close enough to pick out a word or two, then one of the crew - Smee no less - was descending the stairs. His rat-daemon was huddled by his neck looking half-asleep in the lamplight and he gave her a look that bordered suspicious. She pretended to be oblivious, giving him a nod of acknowledgement and watching as he descended down into the ship.

Leaning back on the railing, she craned her neck to peer up onto the quarterdeck and saw, to her surprise, that it was Captain Hook at the helm. The lamps burned with a soft glow, but not soft enough to keep her hidden when his eyes swept downwards and settled on her.

His face broke out into a grin.

"Ah, Swan!"

He was holding loosely onto the wheel, shoulders relaxed, his daemon lounging across the pedestal as he maintained their course. She’d never expected to find him there at this time of day, assuming he’d hand the more anti-social shifts to his lackeys.

He certainly looked the part of pirate captain now, dressed in his leather, an embellished hand set on the wheel.

Her heart betrayed her; quickened at the sight.

“Swan?” she asked as she ascended.

“The pendant,” he responded with a casual shrug. “Thought it fitting. You are a vicious sort of beauty,” he indicated his face where she’d struck him - the bruise mostly faded now.

She smiled, liking the nickname.

"I hear we're making a stop," she continued, changing the subject.

"A planned one," he assured, "don't worry, love, it won't delay us long."

She circled around him, eyes drinking in the image of him even as she gave him a wide berth. It was only then, under the light of moon and lamp, that she realised why he had been given the moniker 'Hook'. His left hand was seemingly absent, replaced by a curve of cruel looking metal. She couldn't recall noticing that before, which struck her as odd. She prided herself on being astute. How could she not have noticed this before?

Perhaps it’s because she’d been focused on his eyes, instead.

He seemed to read her thoughts, waving the appendage, "different attachments, love."

She rolled her eyes at his obscene tone and leaned back against the ship, watching him for a moment in his own environment. In his element. His face was turned forwards now, the wind rifling fingers through his tousled hair. But his daemon watched her all the while. Beautiful and inquisitive, her stare as piercing as the sun.

"You're not what I expected when I was given your name as a contact," she said, at last.

"Oh?" he sounded dreadfully amused.

"You help deliver women to their ‘true loves’? You just take me at my word without knowing anything about me?"

"I _did_ attack you in a dark alley, or did you forget?"

“I still have the bruises,” she retorted, sharper than intended. Her throat had ached for days from the crush of his fingers.

The black cat flattened her head and ears and he turned to look at her, his eyes solemn. The genuine remorse she saw there threw her off guard.

“It’s fine. I’m not made of glass. I’ve faced off worse than you.” She had meant it to be a comfort and it _was_ true. She’d suffered through many a scrap and a lashing over her time - her scarred back proof of that. And yet, his face only looked more harrowed.

“Besides, for all you knew, I might have been trying to make an attempt on your life.”

He said nothing, but his jaw was clenched and she knew she’d guessed right.

A stranger asking persistently after him. Trying to track him down. If the situation had been reversed, she would have also suspected the worst.

“Even still, Swan, I--”

“--Let’s not talk about it anymore. You accosted me for answers and if I hadn’t tried to escape, it wouldn’t have gone as far as it did.” Although she could hardly be blamed for that. She’d not known he had been the man she had been seeking.

“Admittedly, I hadn’t expected you to fight back. Most people freeze.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “the smart people. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

"Well I don’t want to forget _all_ of it,” he replied, his tone turning sultry, “especially not the feel of your body beneath mine."

Was he baiting her? Flirting?

She narrowed her eyes.

"Besides,” his tone had retreated back to conversational, “you're wrong about one thing. I do know you, Swan."

Samiran visibly flinched at his words but she held her ground, body tense as if preparing for another attack. He knew about the reward? Was this all a ruse to hand her in without a fight? But if so, why go to all this bother when he could have overpowered her in that alley? Had he some other use for her that he'd not made clear?

When the silence became strained and it was clear she was not going to reply, he continued: "I've seen it before. People fighting against their restraints and the law. I'm a pirate, after all. Breaking rules is in the job description. Only difference between you and me is that I have a crew and a ship. A means of escape or ways of buying myself out of predicaments. If you get into trouble, you have to hide and hope you've not pissed them off enough that they eventually get bored and move on. And you, Swan, you must have pissed them off pretty good to give up your life and risk boarding my ship."

Her anxiety eased at that. He didn't know.

"Or maybe I didn't have that much to give up," she replied, pushing herself off of the guard rail. She spared him a cursory glance and took her leave, not looking back though she itched to do so.

\---

Despite knowing she should keep her distance, she found herself being drawn to find him again the following evening; the ship anchored a short distance from their stop-off point. 

Seeing as they were going to be stationary for the night, much of the crew had taken to bed - only a few remaining to drink and play cards.

Without truly meaning to, she'd found herself taking the stairs to the quarterdeck, giving pause only when she realised she’d walked into a hushed disagreement. There were no raised voices but the look on the captain’s face spoke volumes. The other man - one who tended to throw her dirty looks - had his back to her, though she felt her skin prickle with nervous apprehension at seeing him standing there.

She was about to back away and duck out of sight when, suddenly, the heated conversation came to an end and the angry-eyed pirate turned away - his eyes landing on her like a physical blow. She jumped out of his way as he stormed off, watching his retreating figure until he was out of sight.

“Problem?” she asked, glancing back at Captain Hook.

“With him? All the bloody time,” he cursed softly, aiming to look unperturbed. His daemon, however, was bristled and agitated, pacing back and forth on the pedestal that supported the ship’s wheel.

“I don’t think he likes me,” she grumbled, drawing nearer.

“He doesn’t like much of anyone, lass,” he smoothed a hand over his daemon’s silky head and leaned back against the wood, “what can I do for you?”

“I have a question,” she asked.

He dipped his head to regard her, his darkly-lined eyes and focused gaze something akin to sensual. Her skin pimpled - though it could have been just the wind - and she determined not to notice how attractive he looked at that moment.

“Some of the crew have...have insinuated that I’m a bit of an anomaly.”

He smiled, all teeth, “aye, that you are.”

“They look at me like I’m going to bring about some sort of cataclysm.”

“You just might,” Hook shrugged and yes, there was no mistaking it now. His expression was nothing but flirtatious.

“Are they...reading too much into this?”

Hook tilted his head curiously.

“She doubts your intentions, stupid,” his daemon piped up. If she could have rolled her eyes, Emma knew she would have.

“It _is_ out of the ordinary,” he agreed at last, shooting his daemon a glare, “but I intend to see you safely to your destination, love. The crew has too many gossips and they find rumour where they will. Don’t let them bother you.”

She nodded, about to turn away, when he reached out and stopped her, his fingers at her wrist.

She froze.

“Listen...I _am_ sorry. For hurting you, before.”

She swallowed, turning back to look at him. He was startlingly close and she could smell the heady scent of salt and sun and the underlying tones of citrus and tea tree on his skin.

He dropped her wrist and lifted his hand up, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly against the side of her neck - across the fading bruises.

She shuddered and jolted away at his touch, hastening down the stairs to her bunk, her skin blazing where he had touched her.

“What the hell?” she rasped, shutting the door behind her, grateful that Ashley was not sleeping already. “What even was that?”

Sam jumped up onto their bunk, “he’s sorry for hurting you.”

“I already knew that,” she hissed, tugging off her boots and thrusting them in the space under her bunk.

“He’s attracted to you,” Sam offered.

She almost laughed. What a ridiculous notion. Sure, under normal circumstances she tidied up pretty nicely but her hair was currently tangled and darkened from lack of care. Her clothes - made for a man - rumpled and ill-fitting. Her eyes bruised from lack of sleep, her body undernourished and stiff from nights spent outside in the cold.

No. He was playing some sort of game.

Maybe the crew were right. Maybe the captain _was_ up to something. She just wished she was in on the secret.

\---

The following morning, Smee took the skiff and half-a-dozen crew members across to the small, unwelcoming looking island. From their angle the place looked like a fortress with its sheer grey cliffs jutting out from the froth of an angry looking sea. The wind had picked up and, even from the ship, she could hear it wailing through the rocks. The sound made her shudder and she had to keep reminding herself it wasn't the calls of tortured islanders.

Just the wind.

Scarlet was talking with Hook about supplies and the rest of the crew were hefting heavy crates up onto deck, setting them in neat rows, readying to hand them over to the islanders.

By the time the midday meal was prepared, however, they were still waiting on Smee and the captain’s patience seemed to be running thin. She watched him pace as she stuffed food into her mouth - poaching some from her neighbour’s plate when he was distracted by some lewd joke.

It was perhaps an hour late when Smee finally boarded, striding across to meet with Hook.

She stared at them, intent.

“If looks could kill…” one of the deckhands jibed.

“Be quiet, Tide.” Another warned.

Samiran batted a paw at the lad’s seabird.

“You joining us?” Tide asked.

“Where?”

“We’ll be crossing over to the island now that Smee’s back.”

“On the one skiff?” she sounded dubious.

“No, look.” Tide pointed and she could see the shapes of a number of row boats, some nestled against the _Jolly Roger_ ’s side. 

Scarlet was already arranging for their payment to be hauled up onto the deck, sparking Emma’s curiosity. What items of value could this distant land provide?

Instead of crates, their payment was supplied in hessian sacks, hauled up by ropes, and - whatever it was inside was heavy - if the way the men strained beneath them was any indication.

“I’m not crew,” she continued, finally answering Tide’s question.

The lad just shrugged, “alright, lady, your loss.”

Despite the flawlessness between loading and unloading, it was still a couple of hours to get the crates across to the island, one row boat after another making the trip until only two boats remained. What more business the pirates had with the islanders, she did not know.

Maybe a visit was simply customary.

And then she was alone no more. Knew who had moved to join her without even looking.

“Captain,” she acknowledged, keeping her voice purposely flat.

“Swan,” he replied with amusement.

Against her better judgement, she turned to look at him. His eyes were sparkling with mirth.

"Care to join us?" he asked, indicating the island with a tilt of his head, making it sound something like a challenge.

“Why?”

“Thought you might relish time away from the ship, as beautiful as she is.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, wondering at his ploy.

He only smiled, looking far more patient than she believed him to be.

“Fine,” her tone sounded long-suffering, though he answered only with a gleeful expression as he led her to where the skiff awaited. Watched as he clambered down and dropped into the rocking boat with a practised ease.

Then, when he looked up she scrambled after, setting her feet more carefully inside. Some of the crew already sat in the boat eyed her suspiciously but the presence of their captain kept their expressions tempered.

He sat down next to her, the heat of his arm and thigh pressed against hers in the close confines of the skiff and tried to ignore the effect it had on her. The tension in her chest, the quickening of her breath. She wasn’t a ‘panicker’, but she could only truly describe this feeling as such.

"She smells nice," the cat-daemon declared - her voice carefully quiet as she curled around his neck. She was so close that Emma was almost afraid she might accidentally brush up against her.

The captain nudged his daemon with his chin and smiled, "I'd tell you to ignore Sereia, but she's not wrong," and when he dropped his hand back to his thigh it brushed, momentarily, against the side of hers.

Emma swallowed, hunkered down and tried to concentrate on the island growing steadily closer and less on the man leaning against her.

\---

It turned out that the last part of this trade agreement was for final transactions to be made in person, particularly between the captain and whoever the man was who was currently talking to him. Two more hessian sacks were passed back to the crew who shouldered their weight back to their skiff. And, in turn, the last of the crates were taken by the townsfolk.

The town huddled on the unforgiving shoreline could hardly be described as such. It looked more industrial, the buildings made from equal parts brick and metal. Even the roads were laid with sheets of metal, dented and worn and rusted in the sea air. The people, too, were just as unwelcoming and, from their gear, were miners.

Miners who mined gemstones, as it turned out.

Well, that, at least, explained why the pirates were here, sacks full of gems and a strange-scented root that Scarlet assured her fetched a high price in some parts of the world.

However, despite this being a reasonably regular occurrence, Emma couldn’t help but notice the tension. In fact, everyone but her seemed to be brandishing a weapon of some description, from crude looking bludgeons to pistols.

She’d been given leave to wander, but not far, and after a few moments walking in the crude, miserable ‘town’, she’d opted to sit on the jetty instead, watching the sun ripen into early evening. 

"Expecting trouble?" she asked Hook when he returned to her side after the trade had been completed.

"We had trouble last time. Lost two of my crew."

"And you came back?" she asked, incredulous.

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good deal. Besides, we made a good example of the ones who initiated the aggression. I don't think we'll have any further misunderstandings."

"So what am I doing here?"

"Because there's something I wanted to show you."

“Okay?” she asked when he seemed to have no intention of continuing.

He gave her a long look and then, without a word, moved further down the shoreline, clearly expecting her to follow. Emma hesitated a moment, glancing across at Sam who was staring at Hook’s retreating form.

He was scowling, wary. "What benefit would he gain from befriending us? Earning our trust?"

"He must have an ulterior motive," Emma added.

"So what do we do?” her daemon queried, though he got to his paws - already knowing her answer.

They followed him.

\---

He had not gone far, just down off of the parapet and around to where the rocky shore curved, the steely outcrop momentarily hiding him from sight.

As she rounded the rocks and into the thick shadow they cast, she looked up at the sheer cliffs that cut higher and higher, rendering this part of the island completely impenetrable. Dotted in those lofty heights were seabirds, clinging to the slender rock shelves.

When she looked back at Hook, he was standing at the edge of the sea, his posture even and balanced, the slope of his shoulders strangely peaceful.

And, as she moved to stand alongside him, his cat-daemon, Sereia, leapt into the shallows and paddled, a free spirit.

She opened her mouth to question him again but he waved her words away.

“Patience, Swan.”

And, for once, she was. Casting her gaze out to sea, watching the sky bruise with the ebbing of the sun.

Still, not much time had passed before she heard Sam’s surprised gasp, drawing Emma’s attention away from the horizon. Sam had started edging carefully into the swirling seafoam to join Sereia and it was beneath their paws that Emma spotted the glow in the water, spreading further and further along the shore. A green, ethereal seascape like an alien sky.

"What is it?" she breathed, unable to draw her eyes away.

"Bioluminescence," Hook said as if it were a normal thing. "The algae glows."

She stood a moment watching the cats play in the glowing shallows, Sereia’s steps far more confident than Sam’s. Then she was crouching, brushing her fingers against the water. Enchanted. Wanting to kick off her shoes and dance in it with her daemon, but too uptight to do so with Hook there.

But maybe he felt the same, what with Sereia twirling and paddling as she was. Their daemons acting out their secret heart’s desires.

"Why?" she asked at last, aware how thin the silence had spread.

Hook shrugged, "Why does the algae glow? No idea, love. It just does."

"No, I mean...why show this to me?"

He laughed, "one of the more romantic reasons to become a pirate, I suppose. Discovering the fantastical. Experiencing them.

“That little town you left is nothing compared to the wonders available in the greater world, Swan."

"What makes you think I care about any of that?"

He eyed her for a moment and the look made her shudder. It seemed to ask her who she thought she was fooling.

“I once met someone who told me that there was no magic left in the world. Wouldn't have listened if I’d argued otherwise. I suppose that’s how most people think, stuck in their miserable towns, stuck in their monotonous routines.”

Her heart thumped against her ribs.

“Maybe I just wanted to prove to someone that there is still magic - if you know where to look.”

“You just said it’s glowing algae,” Emma grumbled, not wanting to be moved by his words.

He laughed again, though it sounded sadder.

"You and I, we're much alike, love. We question authority. Look for our own answers. Don't like to justify ourselves or our actions to anyone. The rewards are great if we're brave enough, don't you think?"

Emma thought of the stolen papers in her rucksack, things she'd not dared to bring to the light since she'd taken them.

He was right. About her.

“Are you trying to recruit me?” she asked.

"Well, it’s interesting that you--"

"We're ready when you are, Captain!” It was Smee, taking them both by surprise, standing at the edge of the rock where they’d entered, looking more than a little grumpy.

"Can you not see I'm busy?" Hook snapped, turning fierce. 

Smee looked suitably scolded and stumbled back across the rocks. Emma couldn’t understand how a man who was one of Hook’s officers could be so...cowardly. 

She turned back to see the captain looking harried, though he said no more. 

"You'll have to teach me how to be a sailor, first." Emma replied wryly, turning to follow Smee back up to the rowing boats.

This time, Captain Hook offered her his hand to aid her step from the jetty. She eyed it only a moment before taking it, gripping his fingers firmly as she stepped into the boat. Ignoring the looks of the crew as she, once more, endured the ordeal of sitting pressed next to the captain. A man who should have made her nervous but only seemed to draw her in.

\---

They set sail again early the following morning, the wind gusty and becoming more and more unpredictable as the time passed. Soon, it became clear that the storm they had been trying to maneuver around was nipping at their heels.

Most of the bird-daemons were perched low amongst the rigging or tied to their human counterpart by a short safety line.

Emma, who _had_ been up on deck, eventually retreated to the confines of her cabin to keep out of everyone's way, the toil of the sea unsettling her stomach. Ashley was already there, looking as nervous as Emma felt.

“I hate storms at the best of times,” she squeaked, her mouse-daemon peeking nervously out from the opening of her shirt.

Strangely, the winds settled after a time, bringing only a smattering of rain that eased by nightfall. However, when Emma ascended out beneath the brilliance of the night sky, the sea seemed to hold dark warnings. Even the splendour of the stars could not dissipate the feeling of apprehension.

Like the world held its breath.

She turned on the spot several times, head up, Samiran walking circles around her and felt giddy with the sudden freedom it brought. The stars felt closer than they ever had. As if she could stretch up on tiptoes and pluck them from the sky.

"Swan. Up here."

She was not surprised to see him at the helm, his hair dishevelled by the wind, his shirt open enticingly.

"It's the perfect night," he gestured out ahead of them, the sea touched by moonlight yet to be impeded by storm clouds. 

"For?"

He stepped aside to make room for her to join him at the wheel.

"To teach you to sail, of course,” his eyes twinkled.

"Don't you usually start your new recruits off with knots, or something?" she retorted, unconvinced.

“If you’re hoping to use the knowledge to tie me up, then by all means. I’d be quite up for that particular lesson.”

Samiran hissed quietly in response.

He held up his hand and hook in surrender, “sorry, can’t blame a man for trying.”

“I can,” she replied through narrowed eyes. 

“Lacking a hand makes for arduous knot tying. I wouldn’t want you to suffer through my fumbles.”

She huffed, half amused. It was hard to imagine him ‘fumbling’ through anything, even with a missing hand.

“Sailing is more my forte, though, you understand? Besides...wooing a woman with prestigious knot tying? I’d say that was a lost cause, wouldn’t you, love?”

“Wooing? Is that what this is?”

“Would you like it to be?” He fixed her with a long stare, his kohl-lined eyes filled with stars. She felt transfixed, jolted her eyes down, and felt the heat rise in her face.

She dared not respond, not trusting her words.

He set his hook against the wheel and beckoned her closer, his daemon dropping to the floor to regard her. She hesitated; the weight of their combined stares almost too much. She knew what she had to do. Escape back to the comfort of her bunk, bury herself under the layers of blankets and sleep and hide until this journey was done.

Instead, she stepped into his personal space and swallowed nervously as his arm came up around her waist, guiding her by the hip, drawing her closer to the helm.

Sereia moved to sit just ahead of them, peering out to sea and, after a few moments, Sam moved hesitantly to join her - sitting close enough that they were almost touching. Emma stared at them for a moment, back rigid, heart pounding, wishing she could just ignore the tantalising pull of him.

Wordlessly, he looped his hook around her wrist and lifted her hand to the wheel, shifting so he stood close behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his presence crawling along her skin.

“You’re supposed to be a blood-thirsty monster," she said quietly.

"Would you prefer that I was?”

“Maybe,” at least she would know where she stood. This man who skipped between fierce and kind, flirtatious and gentle. She didn’t know what to think of that.

“Well, some would say I was exactly that.”

“I don’t think I would,”

“Aye, well, you did rather charm me with your fire when we first met. You had me seeing stars.”

She couldn’t respond to that, her knuckles blanching from her tight grip on the wheel.

After a moment his hand trailed gently up the length of her arm, settling on her shoulder, his thumb drawing lazy circles just below the base of her neck.

“Not like that. You’re holding too tight. Go gentle.”

She forced her grip to loosen, feeling the muscles in her fingers start to cramp.

“Better. The sea is a calm mistress tonight, we'll not need to fight her. Here, relax." 

Relaxing was hard, though, with the heat of him behind her, his warm breath ghosting along the side of her neck. She shivered involuntarily and she could almost hear his smile; curling, mischievous.

"Just keep her from swaying off course. See? Easy." He leaned in close, so close his mouth was fractions away from brushing against her ear, "you're a natural, Swan."

Ahead of them, Sereia brushed lightly against Samiran and she saw the tension along his spine - echoed in her own. Rigid. Afraid...but...wanting?

She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the rush of wind and sea but then his hand was pressing against her hip again and, without thinking, she turned to look back at him, a rebuke on her tongue, momentarily forgetting how close he was.

The tip of her nose brushed against his cheek and he turned his head to look at her, the space between their lips infinitesimal. She sucked in a sharp breath and glanced from his mouth up to his eyes. They were wider now, surprised and waiting.

It would have been so easy to just lean up a little further and kiss him. 

But not for Emma.

Never for Emma.

She turned neatly out from in front of him, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. "If you only agreed to bring me because you thought I'd provide you with free entertainment on the way, well, think again. I won’t be toyed with."

And then she descended the stairs, Sam scrambling frantically to join her.

\---

"Do you think," the cat-daemon asked, clambering up onto his shoulder, "we might have met our match with this one?"

"Not a chance, Rei. We've got time. This thing between us has only just begun."

"But look at you. So handsome in the moonlight, standing at the helm of your beautiful ship? If that doesn't have her swooning, what will? I’m sorry, love, but this girl won’t be easily swayed."

"I don’t think it was the setting."

Sereia looked at him disbelieving.

“She doesn’t trust me. I don’t think she’s trusted anyone for a long time.”

“You need to earn it,” the cat replied.

He sighed, feeling - ironically - that she would have trusted him more if he’d been unkind to her.

"Listen, if you want a shot with her, you're going to have to prove yourself. Show her you can be a gentleman...on occasion, at least."

"Hey, I'll have you know, I'm a gentleman on _every_ occasion."

"Okay, okay,” the cat bobbed her head, “if you say so, though I know plenty who would disagree.”

Hook shrugged his shoulders in a half-hearted attempt to dislodge her but she sank her claws into the soft leather of his coat to hold herself in place.

"Or…” she continued, “you could stop with all this romantic nonsense and stick to the nice, obedient ladies in the brothels. Not go down this road again."

He stayed quiet.

“They’re safer,” she added, not unkindly.

"But who really wants ‘safe’ and 'obedient'?"

She sighed, "not us, apparently."

"Exactly."

"So you set your eye on this one? She’s skittish as a stray. I don’t even think a year would be long enough to find a way into her heart"

"I do like a challenge. Besides, you underestimate my charms. She might not trust me yet, but she certainly finds me appealing."

The cat yawned through a purr and resettled herself more comfortably, "well, love, you had better think of a way to impress our flighty stray before our journey's end. If I was a betting cat, I’d say your odds were poor."

“Well, luckily for you, I’ve been known to beat the odds on a number of occasions.”

\---

Heart pounding, Emma thrust off her boots, scrambled into bed and pulled the blankets up over her head, lying there for long, quiet moments listening to nothing but the sound of Ashley’s soft snores.

Only then did she peek back out from beneath her cocoon, leaning into Sam as he butted his forehead gently against hers, letting the touch linger.

Just like that, the panic began to disperse, the clench of her heart slowly unfurling.

She felt preyed upon, like she was being lured into dangerous territory. If this had been a normal situation, she would have skipped town the moment she’d started feeling like this. But she was trapped here on a boat, surrounded by sea. And, to make matters worse, she couldn’t even deny the attraction she felt.

Damn, she’d even felt it the moment she’d gotten a proper look at him, all lean and dark and confident. He exuded a dangerous sort of allure and she’d always had a bit of a weakness for it. Would likely already have had him by now if they’d met under more usual circumstances.

"It has been a long time," Sam rumbled softly from where his head was pillowed against the top of her shoulder.

A long time since they had felt wanted like that - even if it was just mere physical attraction.

Emma was not adverse to the occasional fling. Most of her past lovers had been brief moments. A day. A few at most. Enjoying their company whilst it lasted. It was safer that way. Able to curb the desire for physical intimacy without any of the emotional baggage that came with it. The moment she felt like she might be getting in too deep, she left without a second thought - chased away from happiness by the spike of fear that drove itself into her heart.

She'd been hurt too deeply. Young and foolish. Enchanted by a boy who’d walked a thin line between order and chaos.

She'd found him instantly attractive, too, and they _had_ made quite the pair. She with her chestnut jaguarundi and he with his fox. But a fox is cunning. A fox is crafty. And, as she would later learn, a fox could not entirely be trusted.

"Are you ok?" A voice whispered in the dark, cutting her from her thoughts. It was Ashley, her little mouse daemon, Gus, peeking across at her.

"Fine," she replied - perhaps a little too quickly, "just tired. Sorry if we woke you."

“That’s alright. How is the weather looking?”

“Calm for now.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way.”

Emma agreed.

“Well, goodnight, then."

"Goodnight," Emma returned, turning her face into her rucksack and allowing the weight of Sam across her side to comfort her. 

\---

She woke to the sound of rain hammering against the ship and the look of fear in Ashley's eyes.

"What time is it?" Emma asked in way of greeting.

"It's only just started getting light," the other woman replied.

The rain did a good job of muffling all but the loudest of sounds. A sudden shout. The traipse of heavy boots right above where they slept.

"Seems like it got stormy after all," Emma muttered, pulling her knees up against her chest and allowing Sam to resettle himself across her as the ship rocked.

"Are we safe?" the mouse daemon, Gus, peeped.

"It doesn't feel very safe," Ashley replied, making a strangled sort of gulping sound. Queasiness. The ship was certainly rolling a lot more than it had been and if Emma thought too much on it she felt her own stomach begin to recoil at the sensation.

"I'm...I'm gonna go and check it out." She dragged herself to her feet, Sam dropping to the floorboards at her heels. Together they headed for the deck. If anything, her sudden nausea would be calmed by the stormy air.

Getting there, however, was another thing entirely.

The _Jolly Roger_ had become a living thing beneath her feet, like a wild beast not wishing to be tamed. She was thrown into one wall and then to the other, so hard that she knew she'd be badly bruised. When the ship lurched again, however, she was ready for it, hands braced on either side of the corridor. 

Samiran was following slowly and cautiously behind her, his stance wide, head low. His strange motion would have seemed comical if they hadn't been caught in a storm in the middle of a ferocious ocean.

And, boy, was it ferocious.

Emma prised the door open against the wind and had her breath stolen by the lick of a wave that had come up and over the deck. Samiran gave a wild hiss, leaping into the air to try and avoid getting his paws wet, back arched and bristled.

"We should get back inside!" he called.

In the next second a young pirate was sent sprawling across the deck, his gull daemon shrieking in terror.

The poor creature was beating her wings frantically and Emma watched, in horror, as the gusts smashed her against the balustrade and sent her lifeless body hurtling out to sea. She turned to dust, lost amongst the gale.

Emma was frozen in shock, hands gripping the frame of the door with all the strength she had, eyes burning with tears, her heart twisting. The sailor was dead, his body rocking under the crash of every wave. She watched him, stricken, wishing that she had not ventured out of her little cabin. Wishing she had not just seen what had transpired.

And then there were loud shouts and two others raced across the deck, boots thumping. One man with an oystercatcher-daemon, bent down to check on the body, but the other - the aggressive pirate, Teach - gave him an unapologetic shove.

"Leave him, his daemon's gone. He's dead."

The younger man hesitated but, with a nod, moved to follow, gripping the rail as he went. 

Neither man spotted her in the doorway, her clothes as dull as the shadows, her hair - as always - tucked up inside her grey, woolen hat. She leaned forwards to watch them go, a huge wave cresting over the ship, the spray of it soaking the two men and three others who were battling against the storm with such a ferocity that she knew their lives depended on it.

The ship sinking was a very high possibility, she realised.

"Let's go!" Samiran shouted, pulling at the leg of her trousers with his teeth.

She acquiesced at last and stumbled back, pushing the door closed against the winds and hurrying back to her cabin, practically falling inside the door.

Ashley was peering up at her from underneath her thin blanket.

"We'll be ok," Emma spoke breathlessly, wondering who she was trying to convince.

All she could think of was that little daemon being snuffed out of existence.

\---

She had no idea how long the storm lasted. It felt like days. Trapped in her cabin in the grey light of the cloud-laden sky, with the rush of wind cutting in through gaps between the wood. She dipped in and out of sleep - snatches of it here and there - startled awake by a change in the noise or an especially violent rock of the ship. And at last, when she started to fear it would never stop - when she was becoming near delirious with the lack of sleep and the constant fear - the rains let up.

Emma staggered like a drunk onto the deck, throwing open the door and blinking into the grey expanse of sky that greeted her. A mist of fine rain kissed her exposed face, hanging droplets on her eyelashes and on a curl of hair that had escaped entrapment. 

Sam was still nervous, pressed against the back of her legs.

The sailor lost to the storm was no longer lying on the deck and she wondered, with a twisting feeling in her chest, whether he'd been lost to the sea. The waves had certainly been demanding enough.

The deck was mostly abandoned, though there was a small gathering up by the helm. Hook, Smee and Will were there, along with three others - including Teach. 

The big, threatening man seemed to be petitioning for them to move on without pause.

“For the last time, I won’t needlessly risk my crew.”

The large man looked set to argue but apparently decided against it, turning on his heel and taking his leave. His eyes bored into her as he passed.

"Take over here, I’m going to get some rest whilst you finish the assessment," The captain was saying, pausing to look up at her, curious.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Who?"

"The dead crewman."

He took her by the shoulder and turned her back the way she had come, his voice low, "there was nothing that could be done for him, lass. How did you come to know about it?"

"I know there wasn't," her voice sounded thick, "I...was there."

"You were up on deck?!" He sounded angry.

"I wanted to see if there was anything I could do, but I barely got one step out of the door. He raced past and the wind...it took his daemon. She..." her throat tightened and she had to stop or risk shedding tears. She detested weeping, particularly in front of other people. His hand was gripping her shoulder again, pivoting her to face him. His face was ablaze, though perhaps anger wasn't its dominant layer.

"Well, it's a good job you saw sense else the wind would've taken you, too. The boy should have had his daemon secured to him," he gestured at small leather straps beneath his jacket and she realised, only after she'd reached up to touch them, that they were the lines that secured Sereia to him whilst he navigated the storm.

He caught her fingers in his good hand and squeezed them, a little too tightly to be intimate.

"Where is he?" she asked again.

"His body was recovered. He'll be given a proper burial."

She felt the tension begin to drain from her, the misty rain beginning to seep through her clothes to her skin. He looked half-drowned himself, his clothes dark and heavy, his hair plastered to his face, kohl smudged. She thought he should look tired. Exhausted. But, strangely, he looked invigorated. Almost as if he'd enjoyed the taste of near-death.

Perhaps he had.

"Get out of the rain, Swan, sleep whilst it's quiet. We may not have seen the last of it."

"There's another coming?"

She followed his gaze out across the sea. The horizon looked bruised and moody and she felt foolish for even asking.

The ship rocked, swaying her into him and his hold on her hand lightened, became gentle. She grasped for his other, forgetting her mistake when her curling fingers found the cold metal of the hook he wore. She held onto it all the same and he looked down, the surprise evident in the rise of his expressive eyebrows. It was strangely endearing.

"I don't know how you spend your life doing this. I was terrified."

"Everyone's a little terrified, Swan." He whispered, "but there's a thrill in it, too. Of fighting against nature and rising victorious? You must have felt it too, for you to risk going up onto deck. But not again, do you hear me? Stay in your quarters or I'll change my mind about teaching you knots and tie you to your bunk."

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards, that seductive glint in his eye never more evident.

"You can try," she bit back, her reaction immediate but somewhat regrettable at seeing the fleeting look of desire flicker across his face. 

"Oh, I will if the lady so desires."

What was she doing, goading him? Was she really so witless? He seemed to sense her panic, however, for he immediately backed down; his look softening at the edges. She wasn't sure she preferred that any better.

Rolling her eyes, she pulled away from him, fighting back the urge to glance over her shoulder. 

\---

Emma did not emerge again until her hunger became too intense to ignore. 

“Wonder how long we’ve been asleep,” she wondered aloud, realising that time had ceased to have any meaning whilst on the voyage.

Either way, she did not feel particularly refreshed. Bedraggled, her bones ached from the cold of sleeping in damp clothes and it took great effort to get her limbs to carry her across to the galley where Ashley met her with a delighted flourish. 

The girl was resplendent, clearly glad to still be amongst the living.

"Hot meal, coming up," she called, ladling the thick stew that, no doubt, tasted like salted meat. Even still, Emma thought she had never tasted anything so divine, not able to stop a groan as she swallowed her first bite.

"Thought you'd be hungry," the girl replied, "I know I was when I woke. It seems like we got lucky. Some clever course adjustments and we've dodged the last of the storm."

Emma ate the rest of her food in silence as the girl chattered away, glad that she seemed happy to fill the silence without any real input. Then, when she was done she helped scrub the bowls and spoons before venturing up onto the deck. 

The air smelt tremendously fresh after the rain; rich and alive and filling her lungs with the scent of wet wood and salty sea. There were still some fierce looking clouds in sight but, thankfully, these appeared to be mostly behind them now. 

The ride, too, was a little rough and not all of the sails had been unfurled. Those that were, looked engorged by the wind, carrying them at a decent pace across the choppy waves.

The captain was nowhere to be seen, likely resting after the ordeal, and she decided to try and mingle, eventually settling with some of the younger crew who were currently being organised by the skraeling, Ivik.

Tide was there, alongside some other familiar faces, their seabird-daemons gathering in close around the jaguarundi to take up their teasing chatter. In fact, only one of the lads - possibly the youngest of them all - had a daemon not of the bird variety. His was a tiny weasel, observing quietly from her place on the boy’s knee.

Samiran’s fierce scowls seemed to be more than enough to keep the more timid daemon at bay, lacking the boldness of the birds.

Alex took up the reins to teach her some of the more complex knots she had yet to master, allowing them to laugh at her terrible attempts and beaming along at their over-exaggerated cheering when she finally got the hang of it. And that was how she whiled away the afternoon, settled in the sun, kissed by the spray of any wave big enough to crest the side of the ship.

It was almost perfect, listening to Ivik’s explanation of experimental theology in regards to sailing. Made her realise just how much there was to sailing - or, perhaps, at becoming a master of the craft. She supposed anyone in a small sail boat could muddle along somehow if they were lucky with the weather, but what the pirates did here. It was precise and calculated. They lived and breathed it.

And then the perfect day was snatched away by the menacing pirate, Teach, who came stomping up, barking angry orders. The young lads went skittering away in all directions, moving to grab brushes and ropes and other tools.

He paused to shoot her an almost violent look, “what are you doing? Are you here to play at being a pirate or to fuck the captain? Get out of my sight!”

Emma was rendered speechless, torn between outright fury and utter terror. He was a burlish man, tall and widely set with an angry sort of face half-hidden beneath a dark beard. His eyes were so dark, they looked almost black and they were currently fixed on her; predatory and cruel. She felt her spine stiffen, her lips purse determinedly, but he did not move. 

His daemon, some great, bristling thing with horrific looking teeth, snarled at her. Samiran raised onto his feet and arched his back, hissing in warning.

When she did nothing but stare back at him, Teach eventually spat at her feet and turned on his heel, stamping across the deck as if he meant to put his feet through it.

"What was his problem?" Emma grumbled.

"He really doesn't like us," Sam said, sounding small.

Ivik, who was still standing in place gave her a serious look, “watch yourself around him. Word is, he’s tossed a number of sailors into the sea for just looking at him the wrong way. That wolverine of his is strong enough to overpower any of the daemons here.”

“I’ve not even said a word to him.”

“He’s something of a troublemaker. Between you and me, I’m not even sure why he’s been kept on. Oh aye, he’s a talented sailor but...not sure it’s worth it.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up,” she said, deciding to make herself scarce. 

That evening she shared a small bowl of dishwater with Ashley to try and scrub the grease from her hair. It was a far cry from what she was used to, but her hair felt a little lighter as she ran her fingers through the tangled strands.

She told Ashley about her run-in with Teach and the woman seemed instantly concerned.

"The others seem to think he’s spoiling for a fight," Ashley whispered, widening her eyes meaningfully.

"Marvellous..."

"Just pretend to be scared of him and he'll leave you alone, I’m sure."

But Emma wasn't prepared to be scared of him and, even if she was, there was no way in hell she'd ever show it.

"Do you know how much longer our voyage will be? I've lost track of how long we've been aboard."

"Two weeks for me, or so I heard, depending on the weather," Ashley replied, wringing out her hair and tying it up into a bun atop her head.

"That sounds a long time," Emma replied, stretching out on her bunk, letting her damp hair fan out over her makeshift pillow.

\---

The next few days were spent learning more from the deckhands and sailors, helping Ashley in the cramped galley kitchen and - by night - conversations with the captain. 

She’d returned against her better judgement to ask him about Teach.

“He’s not my biggest fan,” Hook admitted.

“Or anyone’s fan, really,” Sereia added, becoming chattier with every passing day.

“He’s been part of the crew for some time but things have soured recently.”

“How recently? Because of me?”

“No, long before that, lass. I didn’t offer him a promotion and he took it badly. Now he likes to question me at every given moment. It’s not you, love. He’d have just found something else to begrudge.”

She couldn’t help it. Hook was surprisingly easy company and his mannerisms left her infinitely curious about the true man beneath the pirate exterior he hid behind.

His glances warmed her; settled in her chest, dangerously close to her heart. And each meeting would eventually end with the feeling of attraction spooking her into making an unprompted departure. Left her hastening to her bunk with silent vows not to spend any more time with him. And yet, with each coming of night, she was drawn back to the quarterdeck and his amused yet grateful smiles.

Damn him.

And damn her, too.

\---

"So," she stood just behind him with the wind in her hair, and asked a question that had been burning on her tongue, "becoming a pirate. How does that happen, exactly?"

"Well there's no such thing as a pirate academy, if that's what you mean.”

She laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. 

"Well, for me...I started out as a sailor on a merchant ship. The luckiest break I ever got but...well, things went awry. I discovered that the 'good' people I thought I was working for were not so good after all. So, I suppose you could say that betrayal, anger and love drove me down this path."

"Love?"

"Aye, of the sea. Couldn’t imagine leaving her. So I took a ship that didn't belong to me, hired a crew who shared my feelings on the matter and...well, here I am." He gestured his arms wide, encompassing the ship they sailed.

When Emma did not respond, he turned to her, cocking an eyebrow, "not the answer you expected?"

"I guess I thought you'd say for the adventure or for the money."

"Ah, well, they're certainly the benefits to living on the wrong side of the law. I guess I was just never that good at being told what to do. Piracy seemed the obvious choice."

She understood that.

“To be free to live your own life,” she murmured - so softly she doubted he would have heard.

"What about you, Swan?"

"Hm?" 

"What drove you down your path of villainy?"

She snorted, "I'd hardly classify myself as a villain. Compared to you, I'm a law-abiding citizen!"

The cat-daemon, Sereia, chuckled with amusement, "ah, he's not all that bad. He's done his fair share of good, too."

Hook scowled at the cat but she did not seem to take the hint. She was a chatty feline, so incredibly like him, even mirroring his accent and his habits. Emma found that she quite adored her. She was sassy, warm and intelligent.

"He once saved this skinny, young lad from being attacked in the street. Gave him a coin for bread. Brought a tear to my eye."

"Sereia..."

"What, love? You know these stories sound better coming from me," the cat preened.

"You _are_ me."

His words squeezed the breath from Emma’s lungs. It was hard, sometimes, to think of Sereia as Hook's daemon. She being a reflection of his true character. And even with all the bad things he must have done, there was certainly something more. Something she was growing more fond of with every passing day.

And, as had become an unplanned custom, she mumbled a goodbye and made a hasty retreat.

\---

"You've chased her away again," Hook growled

Sereia bared her teeth at him in fake aggression before putting her paws up against his chest and waiting for him to lift her into his arms - which he did with care.

"You have to let her in if you want to win her heart."

"I don't need your help to woo a lady."

"Maybe not with your regular lady, but with Swan? She needs time and you, love, are fast running out of it. Let me help. Please." She rubbed her head against the scruff on his chin, purring.

"I know what you're doing," he grumbled.

"She likes me, you know."

"You are me," he repeated.

"Exactly."

He huffed and broke his gaze.

Sereia knew she'd won.

\---

The following night the rain was back. Harsh, driving rain that kept Emma confined to her quarters and awake for half the night. She wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the noise that it made. It was somehow far worse than when she’d had nothing to shelter under but corrugated steel. Perhaps because she still had solid ground underneath her, rather than the thrashing sea.

Ashley was awake, too, which made her feel less ridiculous, but the noise of the rain meant that talking became too much effort.

Dawn came with a thin, grey light accompanied by grim drizzle that soaked into her clothes as she busied herself on deck. She'd gotten pretty adept with basic tasks now and helped drive away the boredom by helping the lower ranking crew with their jobs, mopping until her hands blistered, collecting eggs from the scraggly caged hens and throwing them a few rinds of stale bread in return.

It was still raining when she joined the group huddled near the front of the ship, clearly inspecting some sort of issue with the fore of the ship. The captain was there himself which meant it was likely something not being trusted to the lower ranks alone. She peered over the side, tracking the cut of the bow, the sea churned white and fierce as they thrust forward. The sensation was disorientating and she stabilized herself against the balustrade, Sam leaping up to join her on the side. 

Down below, near touching the sea, a few pirates were dangling from ropes, making repairs. She spotted Scarlet and another of the sailors already hard at work and felt nauseous just watching them. 

Hook was making his way down to join them with Sereia curled neatly around his neck. He worked the ropes expertly between hand and hook, feet planted firmly against the bow. His daemon, she noted, was strapped to him with a harness, though she looked so secure it almost felt needless.

Emma was aware of movement somewhere behind her - the sound of heavy steps, the scuffle of large paws and the beat of wings.

"Let's go,” Sam suggested, turning to look at her from his perch, “we're in the way here."

And then everything happened so quickly that, later, Emma would not be able to recall exactly what had transpired.

Only that, one moment, Sam was there and the next he was gone; his scrabbling paws desperately trying to find purchase.

Pure, unmasked terror ripped through her. She opened her mouth to scream but it stuck in her throat, choking her, as she lunged to grab him. Her fingers grasped nothing but air and suddenly she was being hauled back - the distance bringing physical pain, as if someone was wrenching her heart out from between her ribs.

Emma had often thought how she might meet her end.

This had not been on the list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the cliffhanger! Tune in next week! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

"Killian!" Sereia's call of warning had him looking up just as Swan's 'sea cat' dangled precariously on the edge of the deck by his claws. And yet, before he could even begin to understand what had happened, his daemon was sticking her claws into his shoulder and shrieking, “catch him!”

Samiran lost his grip and fell a little further - his claws snagging on a narrow ledge.

Hook set his feet firmly against the bow and pushed, the swing of the rope bringing him beneath the struggling cat just as he lost his grip again, twisting mid-air in a futile attempt to land on his paws. The poor sod would find nothing but sea if he didn't turn to dust first.

And then Sam was colliding heavily against his chest, almost dislodging him from his rope. Cursing his lack of a left hand, he hefted his hooked arm around Swan’s daemon and began the mad scramble back up the rope.

"Hurry! Hurry!. She could die!" Sereia hissed, her panic not helpful.

He had no breath to respond to her but he went as quickly as he could, grateful for hands reaching down to help hoist him up onto the deck. His legs almost went out from under him as he landed, scrabbling forwards to where she lay, looking dead already.

“Swan!”

She didn’t react to her name and in the next moment he was at her side, shoving Sam at her - into her - pressing him to her chest as if he would take residence there alongside her heart. Only then did he let go - realising with a start that he had handled another person’s daemon - and rocked back on his heels.

She wasn’t stirring and the jaguarundi was motionless, draped lifelessly over her chest. But how could that be? He still existed, his very presence concluding that Swan was alive. So then why…?

Sereia leapt down from his shoulder and moved across to them, tapping at Sam with a paw.

And then Swan coughed and drew in a ragged breath, her arms coiling instinctively around her daemon and holding him tight.

Hook blinked, smothering his relief with a growing rage, choosing to take it out on the crew who were milling around to watch.

"Show’s over, get back to work!" He jabbed a finger at Tide, "except you. Help me get her off the deck."

Between him and the young deckhand, they carried the semi-conscious woman across to his cabin where, at the top of the steps, he gathered her in his arms and dismissed the help.

"What the hell happened, Rei?" he asked as he lay the unconscious woman on his bunk, scrambling for blankets to bundle across the top of her. 

"A misstep?" she answered his question with a question.

He touched Swan’s forehead and she shifted uneasily but didn’t awaken. With a sigh, he turned to look at his daemon.

"If it wasn't an accident, we've got a problem to deal with," he replied, trying to settle the tremor in his hand.

Sereia set a paw against his knuckles, "let's not worry about that now, love. The lass needs rest and we have work to do."

He looked at her blankly.

"The ship," she reminded gently.

"Aye," he nodded and pushed himself back to his feet, "the ship."

It wouldn’t do to be seen neglecting his duties for a woman - even if she _had_ almost lost her life.

Reluctantly, he sent for Ashley to keep watch over her and waited until she appeared a few moments later, looking as worried as he felt.

"Come get me the moment she wakes. Do you understand me? The moment she stirs."

\---

She roused slowly from sleep, like wading against a soupy tide, her mind slowly filing through each tiny detail one at a time. A warm weight all around her. A dull ache in her chest that became more and more persistent as she stirred. The scrape of chair legs. A hastened step. A door opening. A call - the voice muffled as if her head had been plunged in water - and then a touch on her forehead, the voice again - still incomprehensible against the rush of sensation. 

The pain in her chest increased, drawing a strangled gasp from her throat that seemed to echo in the hollow space of her ears. She was in the sea. She was in a cavern. Engulfed. 

Something shifted against her, in her arms and then she started shaking - not with cold but with weakness. She felt so desperately frail. As if she'd been asleep for an eternity. And, with the stark pain that awareness brought, she wished that sleep would take her again.

"Hey, shh, it's ok. You’re safe." the person at her side had excavated her hand, holding it tightly, and then she felt the touch of a cold nose against her neck.

Sam.

It took her a moment before she could bring herself to open her eyes, squeezing the offered hand like a lifeline as she waited for her sight to come into focus.

"Ashley?" she croaked, at last.

"Here," her hand was released and the lack of tether was strangely terrifying. Her other hand curled tight to her daemon, pressing him so tightly to her that he gave a pained whimper.

"Drink." Ashley urged.

She drank from the offered cup, spluttering against the taste of stale water.

"Sorry. It was all I had to hand."

"Where...?" the room was too light to be their bunk. Maybe they had arrived at their destination? Though the low swaying sensation - that she had to focus on to notice these days - was still present.

"Captain's quarters," Ashley said in a hushed voice, "he's already been sent for."

At the question in Emma’s eyes, she continued: "He asked to be sent for the moment you woke. He saved you."

"What?"

"He saved you," Ashley pressed, looking suddenly afraid, "Sam was...was falling. We thought you were going to die. I heard them talking. I was so scared when the captain told me."

Emma felt her chest cease at the sudden onslaught of memories. The pain of distance between her and Sam had been unlike anything she had ever experienced. She had to get free. She had to...had to...what, exactly? 

Her frantic struggle was not conducive to hasty escape, however, and she was only half out of the layers of blankets when the door swung open and the captain entered. 

"C-captain," Ashley acknowledged, moving to one side.

"Thank you for sending for me. You can leave us, now."

The woman seemed to hesitate a moment. The mouse-daemon tucked into the front pocket of her shirt did nothing but twitch its nose nervously. And then she nodded, casting Emma a sad-eyed look as she went.

Emma was still trying to untangle her legs from the blankets when he moved forwards, his strained expression softening; turning gentle. It made her almost want to weep.

"Let me help," he offered.

"I can do it," she sounded more hysterical than sharp and then his hand was on her shoulder and everything came to a sudden halt. She turned her eyes towards him and stared.

"You're shaking," he observed, his hand guiding her back to sit on the edge of the bed, Sam still held against her like a shield. 

He busied himself untangling the blankets that had gotten twisted around her legs and tossed them to one side once she was free. Her feet were bare, she realised absently and she planted them firmly against the floor to help quell her uncontrollable shakes.

"Something is wrong with me," she whispered, horrified.

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked carefully, crouching down in front of her.

_Falling._

_Her heart being prised from her chest._

She exhaled sharply and lowered her face, burying it into Sam's quivering fur.

"Ashley said you saved me," she clarified, not wanting to think about that too much.

"Well, your daemon did practically land on me," he replied, trying to be lighthearted about the dreadful thing that had happened. Or _almost_ happened.

Sereia mewled as if she were unhappy with his response.

"Here, love, you thirsty?"

She shook her head, noticing how Sam was staring at the captain.

"He fell," she said simply.

"He did." Hook clarified.

"You saved me," Sam said, his voice small and hoarse.

"Well, it was Sereia really," he rubbed absently at the back of his neck, ignoring the glare his daemon was throwing in his direction.

Later, Emma would wonder what had brought on the bout of modesty. At that moment, however, she was just too tired. She felt herself sway even where she sat and, with surprising gentleness he eased her back onto the bunk.

"Rest. You're past the worst of it, now."

And to her horror, he reached out and wiped the wetness of tears from her cheek - tears she hadn't even realised she'd shed.

"Rest," he said again, quieter, "I'll be here."

She thought that the idea of him being there whilst she slept should unnerve her. It didn't.

She felt the heavy weight of the blankets being draped around her again, the threat of sleep difficult to fight. Then she realised that she needn't fight it. Her body demanded sleep and so she would have it.

\---

The second time she woke it was dark and it was too easy to fall back into the warmth of the blankets cocooned around her. The third time it was barely morning and it would have been tempting to go back to sleep if she hadn't had the urgent need to relieve herself. The salty sea air helped revitalise her as she crossed the deck on shaky legs, still holding Sam against her, afraid to let him go despite his hefty bulk.

He turned to look at her, looking worried.

"It's okay," he said softly, "I'm not going anywhere."

But that just made her want to hold onto him all the tighter.

She splashed some water on her face with one hand (Sam hoisted ungracefully in her other arm) and returned to the captain's quarters, feeling like the walk there and back had taken an eternity. Thankfully, Hook was still not there when she returned and she eased herself down into his chair, casting her eyes across the scatterings of things on his desk. It was mostly clear now, some rolls of parchment set to one side alongside some tidied writing equipment. There was a small chest, too, tucked just beneath on a shelf concealed to all except those who were sitting where she was. Her fingers traced over the intricately carved edges of the lid, tempted to try her hand at lockpicking - if only for a brief moment.

Her other arm slowly began to loosen its grip on Sam who let out a soft purr and settled his hindquarters on her lap, extending his body up her chest so he could tuck his face into the crook of her neck.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.

"There's no you without me," he pointed out.

She felt the bite of tears again and then grew angry. Angry at herself for being so affected by what had happened. So, it had been a near death experience. It's not like she'd never had one of those before. She needed to get a grip.

"Not like this," Sam said.

Not with him falling away from her, not able to keep the distance from growing between them. The desperate pull of her heart trying to tear out of her chest so that it could be with him.

The door to the cabin opened and the captain appeared again. From the look of him it must have started raining; his hair wet, flopping across his forehead and his coat hanging heavy from his shoulders. A single drip was running down his nose but he swiped it away before fixing his gaze on her. He seemed strangely apprehensive, the look mirrored by his daemon who leapt up onto the desk a moment later.

“You’re up,” he declared, if only to fill the silence.

“I am,” she replied, feeling strangely small and vulnerable, caught sitting in his chair.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he shrugged out of his coat, draping it carefully across a rail by the door.

“Fine.”

He eyed her for a moment, as if seeking to clarify her words and she stiffened beneath his gaze.

“Well, the fight’s back,” he laughed, “that’s as good a sign as any,” he threw a flask across the desk at her and she uncorked it, sniffing it suspiciously.

“Rum,” he explained.

“Ah,” and she took a deep drink. It warmed her insides.

He leaned against the side of the desk then, legs crossed at the ankles, his face in profile.

“Would you like me to leave?” she asked.

“Not on my account, lass. Stay here for as long as you need. I’ll not be sending you to your bunk until you’re ready to be fussed over by that mouse of a woman.”

There was a length of silence and she watched him standing there, lost in thought, clearly wanting to say something but not quite sure how.

“What happened?” he finally settled on.

“Was it an accident?” Sereia added in a more gentle voice, drawing closer, “or…”

“You think someone tried to hurt Sam?” Emma asked. When he did not reply, she continued: “I don’t know. It all happened so fast.”

“We were in the way,” Sam offered, shifting so that he could look at Sereia.

“Of?”

“Repairs to the ship.” Emma filled in, “there were others coming to join you.”

Sam bristled, “I was moving out of the way...there were two daemons up on the rail with me. My hind legs slipped and I couldn’t hold on.”

“You saved him,” Emma blurted, “you brought him back to me.”

“Aye, lass.”

Again, that look crossed his face. Pained? Shamed? Why wasn’t he lording this over her? Or making more of a fuss of his actions?

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“If there’d been any other way…” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “you know I wouldn’t have touched him.”

_Ah._

“I might be a pirate but there’s rules even I won’t break. I didn’t mean--what I mean to say, is--”

“--He’s sorry,” Sereia interrupted, “if handling your Samiran caused you distress.”

“You don’t need to apologise for saving my life,” Emma replied firmly. “My only distress was that he was too far from me. That I thought I was going to die.”

In truth, she’d barely noticed her daemon in another’s arms. Perhaps that was strange considering that touching another person’s daemon was absolute taboo. Maybe she should have been repulsed. Maybe she would have if her life hadn’t depended on it at the time.

“Did it hurt you?” she asked, strangely curious, “holding Sam?”

His jaw was tense but he shook his head and she forced herself to her feet, not sure how to take this new man before her. So unsure. So nervous. She never thought she’d think it, but she missed his confidence, his flirting.

“I’ll stay a little longer, if you don’t mind? I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

His answering smile made her feel a little more at ease and, perhaps a little cheekily, she moved around him and threw herself onto the bed - _his_ bed - and pulled the blankets up around her. Sam, this time, was more comfortable to curl atop them, pressed against her ribs.

\---

The next morning she was glad to wake feeling mostly herself. A little frail and very hungry, perhaps, but the shakiness had drained from her limbs and her head was clear. She could hear the captain outside talking to someone as she pulled on her boots and shoved her hair up inside her hat. She had a feeling that she may have missed the morning meal but, with any luck, she might be able to grab a bite from Ashley if she was down in her usual spot.

The door opened before she could leave and he was there looking much more himself, hair tousled, eyes bright and smile firmly in place. A smile that skittered low in her stomach.

“Ah, Swan, glad to see you’re up. I hear you’ve been keeping the lads in check since you’ve been a passenger on the _Jolly_ and, apparently, they are in need of watching.”

She scoffed, “more like they’ve been helping me.”

His grin widened as he edged around her, his hand on her elbow as he shifted into the room. Without truly meaning to, she leaned into his touch. At the same time, Sereia brushed past Sam as she moved to jump up onto the table, her tail running under his chin.

“When you’re better, maybe you can show me how effective your knot-tying skills are, hm?”

Ah and there he was. Captain Innuendo. She smirked in return, “hey, I’m pretty good. Maybe even good enough to be part of the crew.”

“Well,” he swept his arms out, “the offer’s there.”

“Even after all the trouble I’ve caused?”

He just smiled.

“Well, anyway, I suppose I should thank you. For rescuing Sam.”

“You’re a passenger on my ship, love. Whilst you’re onboard, your wellbeing is my responsibility. Besides,” he crooked a brow at her, “perhaps my heroic deeds were not as selfless as you’d believe.”

“Oh?”

“Well, a mere thank you for saving your life? Not much of a reward is it, love?”

“You already have my most valuable trinket,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Ah, then it’s just as well that it’s a different sort of reward I seek.” He was still grinning, eyebrow lifting even higher. But through the ridiculously flirtatious smile she saw something else. Perhaps hopefulness as he ducked his head and tapped a finger to the corner of his mouth.

She scoffed, “you couldn’t handle it.”

“Or maybe it’s you who couldn’t handle it,” he challenged.

Her heart was thumping in her chest, wild. There was a part of her that wanted to rise to the challenge and kiss that hopeful smile right off of his stupid, handsome face. And then there was the other part of her. The other part that wanted to run. Mostly because she _wanted_ to kiss him and she really, really shouldn’t.

Just inside the periphery of her vision she saw Sereia rounding coquettishly on Sam, saw him leaning towards her with nervous anticipation.

Ah, what the hell.

Someday very soon she’d be gone and this ship would be just a distant memory.

It was just a kiss, right?

Before she could really think about what she was doing she’d grabbed the lapels of his coat and hauled him forwards across his table, crushing her mouth to his. 

She’d meant it to be brash and dominant. No emotion. Just victory. And for the briefest moment she felt smug at how he stiffened beneath her in surprise...only to be vanquished a moment later when his mouth softened and she sank into him. His hand was on her shoulder, her cheek, tugging her hair free from her woolen hat as if he wasn’t quite sure what part of her he wanted to touch first.

Then he breathed out some inaudible word against her mouth and her lips parted as if in silent answer. Granting him permission to turn the kiss into something else entirely. Without any hesitation he was angling his head and his tongue was heated velvet in her mouth, drawing her in, closer and closer until the table between them became an infuriating nuisance.

And it was only when Emma realised just how much she was enjoying the kiss that she pulled away from him with the same force that she had brought them together in the first place.

He blinked at her, his body still angled forwards, his good hand raised - fingers slightly curled, mouth thoroughly kissed. He was mesmerised. No. _Mesmerising_. And as he straightened he brought his fingers up to his lips, making no effort to hide how she’d left him feeling.

“Blood hell, Swan,” he muttered. “That was…”

“Don’t get used to it,” she interrupted, feeling unreasonably afraid and not liking how rough her voice sounded. “I don’t intend on putting myself in any more life or death situations.” And with that, she backed out of the door and half ran to the galley whilst reseating the hat on her head

\---.

She slumped at the table beside Ashley, watching the woman flit between a dozen huge pots effortlessly. She probably should have offered to help but the kiss lingering on her mouth like a brand was the only thing she could really think about.

She was such an idiot.

“Here you go,” Ashley passed her a plate of salted fish before going back to what she was doing. “I’m so glad you’re up and about again. I assume you’ll be bunking back with me, now?”

“Will be good to be back.”

“Really? Even with the luxury of the captain’s cabin?”

Emma felt her face grow hot. “Overrated, I assure you.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s pretty sweet on you.”

“Huh?”

“I think he’ll miss you,” Ashley laughed, giving her a knowing eye.

“I very much doubt it.”

Ashley shrugged, “either way, you’ll have the room to yourself soon.”

“We’re close to your port?”

“Yes! And then I’ll be throwing myself into wedding plans. A spring wedding, I think. Lots of flowers and hopefully a sunny spring day.”

“What’s he like? Your prince?”

“Just wonderful,” Ashley sighed. Emma got the impression she was the type of girl who had dreamed about being whisked away by her one true love. A big wedding, big family, dancing and sunshine. “His name is Thomas. He’s the youngest son of an ancient house - though I think I told you that, already. We met at a ball last year and he chased me across the ocean to propose. He’s the type who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it.”

“Daemon?”

“Kestrel.”

Emma inwardly smiled at the thought of a mouse and a hawk finding affection for one another.

“Is he coming to meet you at the harbor?”

“I do hope so. I’d love for you to meet him.”

Emma wondered if Ashley was under the impression that they would keep hold of this friendship after the journey was done. Felt strangely sad that it was highly likely they would never see each other again. Emma had grown oddly attached to the chirpy, optimistic woman. Or maybe it’s because she’d never really had friends and this girl, maybe, could be counted as one of them.

She’d miss her.

She’d miss all of this, really.

It was nice to be away from it all. Out in the middle of nowhere despite the hardships of day to day life and a near fatal accident. She shied away from thoughts of that - and the captain.

“Are you really okay?” Ashley asked, seeming to have read her thoughts.

“I think it's just the shock of what happened. Haunted by the ‘what ifs’. Crazy, isn’t it? I’m alive so there’s no point wondering about the other possibilities but...I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if no one had been there to catch Sam.”

Without warning the woman leaned in and hugged her. A brief but tender thing that made her want to cry.

“Go rest,” Ashley continued softly, “we can talk later.”

\---

She spent the next couple of days keeping her distance from Hook, spending her time with the deckhands as well as some of the more experienced sailors, listening to their stories and their lessons to fill the time and distract her from the memory of a certain captain’s mouth.

She joined Tide on watch and wished him good luck as he took a turn at manning the helm, stepping in to finish his shift until a female pirate with a treefrog-daemon came to relieve her from her post.

In fact, it was surprisingly easy to keep out of his way despite the ship not being particularly large - especially now that they were nearing their destination and plans for a short-stay at port were being made.

It wasn’t until she gave pause to stare out at the strip of land they were heading towards that she felt his presence settle in beside her. Felt as Sereia brushed lightly up against Sam in some sort of affectionate greeting.

She tensed up and saw Sam mirror her feelings.

Hook must have seen it, too, but he leaned against the balustrade close enough that their shoulders bumped and paid it no mind.

“You been avoiding me, Swan?” he asked, his voice light.

“Not particularly,” she replied.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed your company at the helm these past two evenings.” 

She shouldn’t have done it. She shouldn’t have kissed him.

What the hell had she even been thinking, anyway? Had she really sunk so low that she’d been charmed by a pretty face and kind words? Like some pathetic, needy bar wench? She’d let him get under her skin, let him momentarily get past her defenses because…

Because of what, exactly?

Because he’d saved her life?

But what if that had all been a ruse, too. A set-up. Or...or _something._

“I shouldn’t have done it,” she ground out.

“What?”

“Kissed you,” she clarified, feeling angry. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Well, you’ll get no complaints from me, love. As kisses go, it _was_ quite spectacular.”

Her head snapped around to look at him, her heart in her throat as she met his gaze. So blue. So open. The smile on his face muted, became something more genuine. Gentle. And fuck it all, if she didn’t want to kiss him again right then and there.

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” she said, pushing herself away from the side of the ship.

“Come find me later?” he asked.

She didn’t reply, knowing that she wouldn’t. That she’d hole herself up in her bunk. Probably get off to the memory of his mouth and wait for that sated feeling to morph into shame and anger.

\---

The next day she bid farewell to Ashley, lingering just long enough to meet the man who would soon become her husband. Fair of hair and gentle eyed. He’d smiled politely at her, though she must have looked like a street rat compared to his usual company, and made smalltalk.

“You must come visit us, someday.” Ashley was saying.

Her little mouse-daemon, Gus, was tucked up against the prince’s daemon, looking happier than he ever had on the ship.

Emma felt a pang of longing.

“Do you have an address I can write to?” the woman continued.

“Not really,” she replied, thinking of the gyptians and her little borrowed bunk on the narrowboat.

And then Ashley was hugging her, squeezing so tight, that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“Take care of yourself,” the young woman whispered.

“You too.”

And then Ashley was gone, heading into a future that had never been in the cards for Emma.

\---

They headed back out to sea a couple of days later, Emma keeping company with the riggers as she helped fasten the sails. It was after the midday meal before Emma made her way back to her bunk to gather her thoughts. 

Sam moved in close, rubbing against her legs as he pushed the door to their room open. The wild cat froze immediately, the fur on his back lifting.

“Sam? What is it?” Then she saw what had rankled him.

Her rucksack had been upturned, her possessions scattered haphazardly across her bed. Panic filled her chest and she threw herself at her things, searching through them with a madness that came to an abrupt halt when she found the envelope still folded in amongst her clothes. It was still firmly sealed.

“Who would have been through my things?”

“It must have happened recently,” Sam pointed out, “we’ve not been away from the ship more than a couple of hours.”

“Can you think what could be missing?” her few trinkets were all there, still in the drawstring bag. And that was odd. Surely such things would be a pirate’s prime target. If they’d not taken those or her precious documents, what had they been looking for, exactly?

She and Sam came to the answer at the same time.

“The wanted poster,” they both said, turning to stare at one another.

“Do you think Hook sent someone to find out about me?”

“Or maybe one of his crew,” the jaguarundi offered.

“Teach?”

“Could be. Without knowing the motive, it would be hard to say....”

“The motive is the money, of course.”

Sam blinked, quelled.

“Sam, what should we do?” she was panicking.

“Someone looked through your things specifically to dig up dirt. Hook didn’t know about the bounty when he agreed to grant us passage.”

“You think he’d turn us in if he did?”

Sam looked stern and then regretful, “he is a pirate...”

“Then we need to find who did this before anyone else finds out and get rid of the evidence.” She grabbed her rucksack, hoisted it onto her back and charged out of her room, ascending up onto the deck and into the wind. She paused after a few steps to glance around her. The deck was full of activity. Familiar faces. Aloof ones. Men who ignored her. Men who cast her smiles. 

She headed towards the friendly ones.

“Hey,” she spoke just loud enough to be heard over the hullabaloo, “do you have a sec, Will?” He grinned at her with a slight bob of his head, the magpie on his shoulder bobbing, too.

“Sure thing.”

“You know everyone pretty well on this ship, right?”

He shrugged, looking a little smug.

“Noticed anyone acting suspiciously today?”

“Suspicious how?”

“Sneaking about? Secretive chats? You know, general suspicious things.”

“Something we need to be worried about?” Scarlet’s eyes flashed briefly around them.

“Not really. Just have a feeling, you know?”

“Like a storm on its way?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Hm, well, not noticed anything obvious.”

“Keep an eye out for me, will you?”

“For you? Of course.”

She liked Will Scarlet and his easy going attitude. He was not a guy to play games and tended to say exactly what he was thinking - a trait that landed him in trouble even if it was admirable. He’d been a common thief before turning to piracy, his lifestyle born from necessity before it became something he sought to challenge himself.

Still, his answer - though not unexpected - was not a good sign. Will was almost always up on deck, milling around and he rarely missed a thing. If you wanted to know something you’d go to him and the gleaming eyes of his crafty daemon. This thing was operating outside of his jurisdiction which meant that it was serious indeed. Perhaps more serious than she knew.

She couldn’t do this alone.

“Swan!” 

She froze on the spot, turning to look at him a moment later, all lean and dark and dangerous, the dark blue of his half-unbuttoned shirt drawing her attention to the line of his throat. She swallowed thickly, her mouth coming alive with sensation as she recalled…

But that didn’t matter now.

There was an intense hunger in his gaze that had her heart dropping like a stone. He’d found out about the reward and there was no running from her fate here. No escape at all. They’d tie her up, lock her away with the scrawny hens and hand her over when they arrived back in Brytain.

He gestured for her to follow him and she did so solemnly, her feet feeling weighed down as they trod against the deck.

“Shut the door behind you, Swan.”

She let it swing closed with a dull ‘thunk’ and leaned heavily against it.

“We don’t have much time and---”

“--Is there anything I can do to convince you not to turn me in?”

There was a silence then. She waited, her thudding in her chest. He was looking at her as if he’d missed part of the conversation. After a moment he offered her a confused sort of grin.

“Sorry, love, I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

Could it be he didn’t know? Oh…

“Forget it,”she said, too quickly. “What did you want to talk about?”

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, felt them probing her, pouring light into the shadows of her heart, threatening to lay secrets bare. She pressed herself more firmly against the door, trying to keep her face neutral.

But as he looked at her she started to feel herself coming undone at the seams and she felt her face droop.

Sereia dropped down from the desk, scrutinising Sam for a moment and then - to Emma’s surprise - she ventured closer, bumping her head against the jaguarundi’s cheek. She felt her own hand go up to touch the exact same spot on her own cheek.

Hook’s eyebrow lifted.

“What’s got you so spooked, Swan?”

“Someone snuck into my bunk and went through my things.”

His angry reaction was immediate and filled her with relief. “ _What_?”

He didn’t know! Which meant he’d not given anyone permission to go looking through her stuff. That he wasn’t part of the plot to get her handed over to the Magisterium.

“They took something that could cause trouble.”

“How much trouble are we talking here?”

“Potentially...monumentous.”

His expression turned mischievous, “a life or death type situation?”

She wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry or beat him senseless. The man was inexorable.

Still, it took her long moments to begin the explanation and she was thankful that he waited without pressing her for details.

“There’s a bounty on my head,” she replied and when he said nothing she forced herself to continue before panic could silence her. “It was not my first offence and this time I apparently overstepped the mark.”

“I already know that. You bought passage on a pirate ship, remember?”

“They put up posters,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “they’re offering a big reward for my capture.

“I know,” he said, his voice a whisper.

“I don’t think you do,” she replied, getting annoyed.

“I saw the poster, Emma.” His voice was careful, quiet, like he was trying to soothe a wild animal.

“You saw the..? You...knew? You know my name.” The revelation sent her into a spin. She was certain if she hadn’t been leaning against the door she would have fallen to the floor with how unsteady she was feeling. She pressed her palms firmly against the wood, needing to feel something solid and safe.

“Yes.”

“But why would you offer me safe passage? You’re a...a…”

“Pirate?” His smile was sad, “aye, lass, when I saw that poster I did have a mind to collect a bounty.”

“So, you changed your mind?”

“Well, there’s no guarantee they’d have paid out to a criminal like myself. They’d likely have locked us both up for our misdemeanours. And...”

“And what?”

“Then I met you. I decided the reward wasn’t enough.”

Another silence, thick and full of emotion.

“I had a poster in my rucksack,” she continued with the story, finding a safety in it, pulling them away from the more emotional route their conversation had taken. “Someone’s taken it. I thought…”

“That they’d brought it to me and we were planning to turn you in?”

Her silence was telling but what could she say? That _was_ exactly what she’d been thinking.

“This does mean trouble,” Sereia said, sounding worried.

“If word gets around that I passed up on the chance of a small fortune…”

“The crew won’t be best pleased,” Sereia added grimly.

“The fact that you could have been arrested wouldn’t sway it?” Sam asked, taking over from Emma who was currently struggling to speak.

“Being a pirate is all about risk. No. There’ll be some crew who’d have me demoted for turning a blind eye to a prize like that. Not many, but enough to make life interesting.”

“What do we do?” Sam asked when it became clear that Emma was not going to verbally engage.

“We hope I can kill the bastard who went through your things and rid ourselves of the evidence before this little coup takes root.”

“You have some ideas?”

“Some, yes. I’ve got an idea of who is involved but no doubt there’ll be some others milling about, looking for promotion by seeking favour with the traitors on my ship.”

“Teach?” Sam queried.

“That’s where my bets would be,” Sereia replied.

“We need to weed out his followers,” Hook agreed.

“Or you could just lie to them,” Emma said finally.

“Hm?”

“Tell them you knew about the reward, that you agreed to let me on your ship so that you could orchestrate an easier collection on my bounty.”

“Not my style, love. If I wanted the reward I’d have taken it the day I met you and to hell with the risks.”

“Then tell them you didn’t know about the reward.”

“They’d demand I take you prisoner.”

“Then you’d tell them no.”

“And why would I do that, love?” he said quietly. Probing.

“You tell me,” she muttered back.

“Because,” Sereia replied for him, all sass, “he’s a romantic buffoon.”

Hook set his teeth and glared at his daemon who made a great show of looking perfectly innocent and unaware.

“You’re forgetting,” he said, turning his attention back to a cornered looking Emma, “I saw the poster.”

She blinked at him, not understanding.

“We’re alike, you and I. When I tracked you down to that alley, thinking you were some assassin sent to take me out. Well...you stood your ground against me and nearly escaped...how could I put you in a cage? The bastards in the Magisterium deserve everything they get. The enemy of my enemy is a friend. Or something like that.”

“What he means is,” Sereia added, “you stole his heart.” she ducked under the table as Hook moved to grab at her.

Emma gave a strangled, nervous laugh.

“We didn’t want to consign you to that fate,” Hook replied.

“That doesn’t help our current situation,” Sam pointed out with a growl.

“Look, Swan, let’s not overthink this. The plan is actually quite simple. I kill the ones who did this and toss their bodies overboard. If the ringleader of this little rebellion tries to cause trouble, I’ll do the same to him, too. His reputation does not precede mine.”

“How will you root them out?”

“I have my ways.”

Emma thought those ways probably involved Will Scarlet.

“Trust me, love. No one will be collecting your bounty.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced, but turned to leave all the same.

“Oh, and Swan,” he called, “When this is done and I’ve delivered you safely across the sea, I think you’ll find you’ll owe me another reward.”

She glared at him before taking her leave - almost running into Scarlet who had been waiting a few strides away, tapping his foot impatiently.

“So, you know you asked me if I’d noticed anything? There’s something going on right now.” He threw her a cocky grin and she shoved him in the shoulder in way of thanks.

“This way, m’lady,” he taunted her with a slight bow.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“Alex almost bumped into Teach and the man just gave him a shove and carried on walking.”

“And that’s...suspicious?”

“Hell yeah. I know you’ve only been with us for a few weeks but when have you ever seen Teach _not_ lay into one of the cabin boys for the smallest misstep? The guy almost ran straight into him and he didn’t even say anything.”

“Ok, which way did he go?”

Will nodded his head in said direction and left her to her own devices. He clearly had no intention of getting drawn deeper into the situation, which suited Emma just fine. 

Unfortunately, she arrived a moment too late to hear anything of the conversation between Teach and his lackey, but the red hair of the lad scampering away from the intimidating man could not be mistaken.

The boy with the weasel daemon. 

The others called him Jay.

She hurried back to report her findings to Hook, looking forward to his surprise at how quickly she had returned with news.

\---

“Just hand it to me, lad, and we’ll say no more about it,” Killian replied, keeping his tone purposely light, jovial. His right hand was resting lightly on the shortsword at his hip, an idle finger tapping the hilt.

“I-I don’t know what you mean, Cap’n, sir.”

Sereia descended from his shoulder and leered forwards, snarling.

“I have eyes everywhere. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I don’t have it,” Jay squeaked, shuffling backwards until he was pressed against the curved side of the ship.

Hook drew his sword, the moonlight turned its edge a brilliant white. “Then who does?”

The boy’s eyes were round with fright.

Sereia growled menacingly.

“Look at it this way, if you help me, there _may_ be a risk to your life. If you choose not to help me the risk to your life is _certain_. You’ll be bleeding out in the ocean. Nothing but a free meal for the sharks.”

“Teach has it,” the boy blurted, his daemon burrowing frantically into the collar of his shirt.

“I need names.”

“Names?”

“Yes, lad, names. Who else is conspiring?”

The boy blinked. He didn’t know what the word meant.

“S’bout a reward, cap’n. For the girl.”

“Who else knows?”

The boy seemed reluctant to speak, at least until the point of the shortsword was against his throat, piercing skin. The weasel gave an awful, terrified noise.

“Names, boy. _Now_.”

Names, at last, were given and - after a moment’s hesitation and assurances of loyalty - the captain let the boy scramble away.

“Was it a good idea to let him go?” Sereia asked.

“Probably not,” Hook shrugged, “but he’s just a kid.”

\---

“Are we in the clear?” Emma asked.

“Teach’s right-hand man is fish food, if that’s what you mean.”

“What about the others?”

“The situation calls for subtlety, Swan. If I killed all of them, Teach’d know in an instant that I’m on to him. He’ll weed out the mole and garner support. The death of an ally will make him suspicious but it won’t be a big enough case to make an attempt for you or me. We’ve hampered his plans and with our journey coming to an end, he’s unlikely to have the strength to make a move.

“The others amongst his rabble don’t have the strength of character to go against me with the ringleaders going missing.”

There was a long length of silence, Emma pondering on his words. Not convinced that it was enough. Thought on his reasons for helping her instead of turning her in.

Despite her better judgement, she asked: “the Magisterium wronged you, too?”

He looked at her, calculating. “Not me.”

She tilted her head, confused but curious, “then who?”

Sereia unsettled, meowing quietly, and he rested his hand on the top of her head, stroking gently. He was quiet for a long time, so long that Emma almost backed out of the room and left him to his thoughts.

“They wronged my brother,” he replied at last, his eyes downcast, jaw clenching. “He was the captain of a ship commissioned by the Magisterium. Simple jobs, in truth, but it ended up getting him arrested.”

“What did he do?”

“Nothing. Nothing except ask too many questions.”

“He’s still there?” she asked quietly, “in prison?”

“No,” he replied, voice hard, “he’s dead. Because that’s what they do, Swan. That’s what they do to people who know too much or start questioning their judgement. They leave them to rot. That’s what they would have done to you if I’d handed you over. I won’t be part of it.”

She reached out, suddenly, grabbing at his hook and giving his arm a light tug. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your brother. And I’m sorry...for dragging you into this mess.”

She watched as his eyes settled on where her fingers still grasped him.

“Even if I’d known you’d spark trouble on board, I’d still have agreed to it.”

“Honour amongst thieves?”

“Aye, lass,” he smiled, his face relaxing. “And what did you steal that irked them so?”

“Oh, nothing much.” She gave him a shrug.

His eyes sparked knowingly, shifting into her space as he regarded her.

“You are dangerous,” she murmured, more to herself than anything.

“Devilishly so,” he replied, flirting.

“You...you make me want to trust you.” She looked down to where she was still holding onto his hook and, very slowly, released the warming metal from her grasp. “I want to.”

“But you can’t.”

“Trust is dangerous. I learned that the hard way. You should understand that, too.”

“I trust you, Swan.”

“Your life doesn’t rest in my hands.”

“It would be safe in them, though.”

She tried her best to avoid him for the rest of the voyage.

\---

Sam sighed softly from his place on her chest as she lay on her bunk, feeling the rock of the ship beneath her and trying her best to ignore the goings on all around. She’d mostly kept to herself the last couple of days, showing her face only to carry out some menial tasks and listen to the lads banter and tease. 

She noticed that Jay barely spoke and his weasel-daemon stayed tucked inside his shirt. He twitched at every raised voice as if expecting the whip to come cracking down between his shoulders. When she asked him about it, though, he just ducked his head and scuttled away.

If Killain showed any signs of looking for her, however, she’d slink back to her bunk or ensure she was busy elsewhere in the ship, hating how much she desired to just throw caution to the wind.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Sam asked, breaking her thoughts of dark, wind-ruffled hair and blue eyes.

“Keeping us safe, Sam,” she murmured, stroking his ears.

“Safe but unhappy,” he replied. “We don’t have much time left on this ship. We should be with our new friends. Not hiding away.”

“I know,” she whispered the words against his fur, “but we’re better off like this, Sam. We have to slip away as if we never existed and the crew have work to do and he...he has a ship to sail.”

Sam shifted forwards, burying his face against her neck and she sighed deeply, blotting tears against his fur as if they had never existed.

“This feels like heartbreak,” Sam whispered.

_No_ , she thought, _but it could_. If she ventured to seek anything more from the promises at the corners of the captain’s smiles, it could definitely progress. She could feel it. A pull at her heart. A horrible sort of yearning that she’d managed to avoid for years.

“You could still make the most of the time we have left,” he continued.

“To what end?”

“A night? Just a night?”

It wasn’t outside of the realms of possibility, of course. One-night-stands were her typical domain. Now, at journey’s end, it would be no different from passing through a town. Come morning she’d be far away and he’d be gone.

And yet...it felt different.

She knew him better, perhaps. Or wanted him more than her usual dalliances.

“You like him,” Sam murmured.

The door to her bunk swung open and Emma sat up sharply, her daemon hissing in surprise.

It was Tide.

“They say we’ll see land before dusk,” his smile faded, “you okay?”

“Yes, sorry, was just dozing.”

“The captain was asking after you,” he said, “it sounded important.”

\---

Hook was conversing with a small group of his crew - Smee and Teach included - as she arrived up on deck in the evening light. She lingered for a moment to watch him, breaking off a conversation with a laugh that had her smiling in return.

Then he looked her way, his blue eyes cutting straight to hers, and she didn’t think she imagined the sudden fondness in them.

She thought of the kiss. Of yearning.

She forced herself to replace those dangerous emotions with memories of betrayal and loneliness and loss.

She gave him a jerky nod and hastily made her way to his quarters to wait, not knowing how long he would be.

As it turned out he kept her waiting only a few minutes, striding through the door with purpose, the expression on his face nothing if not jubilant.

Without a word he swept over to his chair, dropped into it and extricated the small chest hidden beneath the table. The key was removed from a hidden pocket in the lining of his coat and then he was retrieving a roll of crumpled paper, presenting it to her with a proud flourish.

She did not need to take it to know what it was but, when she made no move, he pressed it into her fingers and sat back.

“You did it,” she breathed.

“I had some help from a particularly talented thief.”

“Will?”

Hook nodded, “Scarlet demanded a fee but he’s trustworthy enough.”

“You’re certain?”

“As certain as I can be,” he shrugged, unfurling a map and setting some weights down to stop it curling up again. “When we dock you’ll remain on board. I have somewhere you can wait it out until Teach and his cronies are certain you have left. Leave after nightfall when everyone is busy. I’ll try and draw the crew to our regular watering hole.” He pointed the location out on the map which was a map of land and not the sea. “They’ll be too distracted by ale and women to think too much about you and if anyone is, they’ll already be searching the town thinking you’ve jumped ship the moment we drop anchor. Keep off the main streets, stay hidden. The trade carts start coming and going at first light. Stow away on one of those and they’ll take you west, along the main trade route.” He ran a ringed finger across some of the roads to further articulate and her eyes flicked up to watch him.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers and they spoke at the same time, falling silent in unison, too.

Emma motioned for him to say his piece.

“You could still stay, you know. The crew is never at full capacity and I’ve heard you’ve done pretty well for someone who’s never sailed before.”

Sereia was staring at her with those same earnest eyes.

And there it was again. That horrible longing that she kept trying to tamp down.

But even if she could, she’d be putting herself at risk. At least some of the crew knew her worth and whilst they did, she could never truly integrate. She’d always be looking over her shoulder.

She did not need to speak for Hook to know her answer, his sharp nod an indication.

“Maybe if the circumstances had been different,” she gave in way of answer.

He nodded, looking deflated.

Was he really so disappointed to see her go? Would he miss her? It felt like a ridiculous notion but his eyes almost made her believe it.

“I suppose I won’t see you again once I leave this ship,” she replied, not looking away as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.

“Losing out on my reward _is_ regrettable, Swan, but I’m a man of my word. I’ll ensure you get away safely, so long as you promise to be more careful next time.”

“I don’t plan on there being a ‘next time’.”

He smiled sadly at that.

“Hook, I…”

“It’s Killian, love.”

She startled.

“My name,” he clarified with a soft smile, “it’s only fair, I suppose, since I know yours.”

Sereia dropped from his shoulders and crossed the small distance to the bed, pawing at the blankets. To her surprise, Sam moved to join her, sitting close enough that it made Emma nervous.

“Sam!” she hissed, feeling her face reddening.

But the jaguarundi simply yawned and settled in against Sereia’s side as she rubbed her cheek against his neck.

Emma’s eyes widened in shock, her head snapping around to regard Hook, an accusation on her tongue. There was no smirk on his face, though. In fact, the usually cocky pirate looked completely flustered, his eyes similarly wide, colour high on his cheeks.

Emma never could have nice things. But maybe this time...just this once? Maybe she could allow herself this.

“Hook - uh - Killian,” she started again, wetting her lips nervously. “It seems to me that once we arrive it’ll be my responsibility to get away unseen. So...what I mean is...you’ve already carried out what you promised.”

She was caught between two powerful emotions, then. Desire for this last moment with him, to throw caution to the wind and just enjoy this man she was attracted to...and fear. Fear that she was only setting herself up for pain over something that had barely begun. 

But Sam was right. She knew it. She’d miss him regardless of what she did now. Miss their starlit conversations, the colour of his eyes, his confident swagger and the scent of his skin when he lingered close to her. She hated herself for letting down her defences, hated herself for how easily he had gotten through them. Hated how she so _desperately_ wanted to trust him and the fact that a part of her already did.

He must have seen the rage of emotions in her face because he had softened in the chair and she thought it ridiculous that such a man could be a feared pirate captain.

But he had his walls, too. His heart carefully folded behind bravado and aggression and flirtation.

“Emma,” he held out his hand, palm up, and she eyed it, torn. Then, very slowly, she set her hand in his, startling at the touch of his thumb circling just above her knuckles.

\---

This was a delicate thing playing out before him. An intricate dance of give and take. One wrong step and she’d slip through his fingers and out of that door. One wrong step and his only chance would be lost. She’d been hurt before, he wagered; her trust shattered and never restored, her heart closed off in fear it would be treated roughly again.

But she was a precious thing and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to help her out of the pit of loneliness she had dug for herself. Granted, their time together was about to be cut heartbreakingly short but, if he could make it easier for her to find happiness with someone else...then so be it.

The only thing worse than imagining her content in the arms of another man was being all alone out there in the cold, unforgiving world. He had his ship, his crew, the sea and the money to pay for his physical pleasures. But she? Starting life anew with no friends or family or fortune?

“Emma,” he said again, tightening his grip on her hand just enough to draw her around the table towards him. He could feel her trembling as she acquiesced and leaned towards him. More in fear than desire, he suspected.

“So...you can have your reward now, if you want it,” her voice was low, taking on a sultry tone.

He edged the curve of his hook behind her hip, inching her closer, “only if you promise not to run out on me this time. I’d like the chance to romance you properly.”

Her blushes were a pure delight, the colour creeping prettily down her neck. 

He could see the hesitation, though, knew she was beginning to backtrack, her confidence crumbling. Maybe he’d said too much. Used the wrong words. But he was smitten and he didn’t want her to just slink away afterwards like it had meant nothing.

He couldn’t have it mean nothing.

He _wanted_ her. Desperately.

He squeezed her fingers and, after what felt an eternity, she very slowly nodded her head in agreement. He responded by easing her forwards and onto his lap, folding her into him, guiding her face gently into the crook of his neck. It was only then, a hand on her shoulder, that he saw their daemons - who had been momentarily shielded when Emma had been lured closer. 

Sereia was looking across at him, almost predatory, pinning Samiran to the bed as she rubbed her head up against his exposed neck.

Killian swallowed, glad when Emma pulled back a little, diverting his attention from his overeager daemon.

He was trying to be _delicate_ , damn it.

He still held her, cradling her head against him, reaching up to discard her hat and relishing the feel of sliding his fingers up into her hair.

Her eyes half-closed at his attentions, her head still nestled against him, her breath warm against his collarbone.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said, her voice quiet, almost sad.

He wasn’t certain what she was talking about, exactly, only that he wanted to hold her close - as if that could be the solution to all of her problems.

“What if running was a mistake?” she continued.

“No point in second-guessing now, love. What’s done is done. Right or wrong, you made your escape.”

“Why couldn’t I just be content with what I had? I could have just done what everyone does and kept my head low and lived my life. Quiet and safe.”

“But you’re not like most people, Swan. You’re a leader, not a follower.”

“Hmm.”

“If we let them get away with their crimes, are we any better?”

Nothing. Silence.

“Despite what you think, the whole world isn’t out to get you. Fortune changes with the wind, love. You’ve weathered storms but even the worst of them must pass.”

She pulled back to look at him and he lost himself in the soft green-brown of her eyes. Usually so hard. So guarded. They looked uncertain now - vulnerable even - her resolve slipping.

Panic seized him, the thought of her leaving now near unthinkable.

But he needn’t have worried. For in the next moment, she, of her own accord, closed the gap between them, her kiss featherlight. A thing so tender and sweet it gathered tight at the centre of his chest; a pinpoint of delicious pain. Her arms came up around his shoulders and she sank into him, sighing against his mouth, her nose against his cheek. 

And that was how they stayed, for the best part of an hour, drawing out kiss after kiss with a languidness and patience he didn’t even know he was capable of. Learning the sweet heat of her mouth, the caress of her tongue and the gentle fingers that occasionally came up to frame his face. Memorising the press of her body against him, the weight of her in his lap, the curve of her hip, warm beneath his palm. How she gripped at his brace as if it were no different from flesh and bone.

And then she was snuggled back against the crook of his neck, her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt, his arms looped around her waist.

Both of them breathless (and he very much aroused).

“Swan, listen, I…” he wasn’t truly sure what he’d been about to say. Something along the lines of wanting her. Wanting her more than he should.

Wasn’t sure whether he should have been thankful when she silenced him with a stern look and a finger against his lips.

“No,” she said, firm.

“No?”

“No,” she confirmed.

He had no idea what had just transpired, though later he wondered whether perhaps she knew what he’d been about to say and hadn’t wanted to hear it. Whether it might have chased her out of his door and cut their moment far too short.

Instead, he tilted her chin and kissed her, softly. Felt her hum into his mouth. Felt her hand slide inside his shirt, curling up and over a bare shoulder. Something in that action set their kisses at a faster pace, languid becoming spirited. Her mouth pressed urgent and he felt her hands fumbling at his shirt, undoing buttons, her hips coming forwards, the friction sending a jolt through him.

“ _Swan_.” 

“Please,” she breathed, still kissing him.

“Swan…”

“Less gentleman and more pirate,” she told him, her eyes burning.

_Shit_.

“I am so tired,” she said, her teeth pulling briefly at his bottom lip, “so tired of all the years of keeping everyone at a distance. So please, just for this one moment...make me forget that I have to.” She slipped off of his lap, tugging him after her by his hook and laughing as he staggered to his feet, realising all too late that he’d all but lost the feeling in them. He fell against her, trying to make it look purposeful and grinned at the knowing look in her eye.

Smooth.

And then, through open-mouthed kissing, they divested each other of their clothing and fell ungracefully to his bunk, their daemons hastily moving out of their way, chasing and tumbling after one another.

She was a vision, her hair spread across the blankets, gold as autumn and he knew then that she could ask anything of him and he would do it.

If she asked him to follow her…

Sereia’s voice chimed through his mind. An unwanted and untimely reminder. Why was he losing himself to a woman who would leave him?

He knew it made no sense. Knew that by tomorrow, this fragile thing would be gone. A fleeting moment of passion. But damn him, he couldn’t help himself. She’d utterly charmed him.

He wanted her.

And if it hadn’t been for that bastard, Teach, he might have been able to keep her, too.

Her fingers came up to run through his hair, bringing him back to himself, and he allowed her to entice him down for another kiss, smiling at her impatience. He kissed her mouth again before moving lower, drawing a line down across the edge of her jaw, tracing the line of her neck to the dip between her collarbones, idling there a moment.

She pushed up into him, her fingers in his hair, urging him to continue his exploration. Part of him felt bad for denying her but this was too important. She felt so vulnerable. So fragile. She was opening her heart to him and he’d be damned for all eternity if he did anything but keep it safe whilst it was in his care.

He softened his mouth against her throat and chuckled at her muttered ‘insufferable’, before finally complying to her whims, kissing a line across the curve of one breast. She arched into him, breath hitching as he shifted his touches seamlessly between rough and gentle. He groaned, near losing himself at her needy sounds, forcing him to relent his attentions and continue his slow, exploratory descent.

He turned his hook inwards, pressing the side firmly against her hip, anchoring her beneath him, his good hand catching beneath her knee, drawing her leg up his thigh as he shifted himself lower, kissing a trail down the smooth line of her stomach, breath teasing the fine hairs there. Then he turned his head, touching his lips gently against her hip and again at the inside of her thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there until she was practically growling in frustration.

“I told you, love. I’m going to take my time with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

She stirred at the sound of cautious tapping and to the delightful ache and burn of their union. Took a moment for the memories to unfurl as she stirred into wakefulness. 

The creak of the ship was more noticeable now, dusk having well and truly turned to night. A single lamp had been left lit and it swung gently from its hook, casting dancing shadows about the room.

It was only when the tap sounded again that she realised the weight across her waist was not Sam.

It was an arm.

She heard the irritated growl of her bed companion as he climbed over her and listened to the pad of his bare feet and the rustle of clothing being retrieved from the floor. 

In truth, she didn’t know what to think.

She knew what she should do. She should use this as an opportunity to gather her clothes and take her leave, slip back to her bunk and stay there until it was time to leave.

Instead, she wanted to hide her smile into her pillow and not give herself a chance to panic about what she had done.

It had been stupid, after all. She should have been stronger. Better. Not kissing him as she had. Certainly not engaging in activities that felt less like a desperate, one-time union and more like ‘making love’.

But what did it really matter? It didn’t change anything. They were still attracted to one another. Would probably still miss one another. The only difference being that they knew each other intimately now. And how could she truly regret sleeping with him?

They had a connection. They had both felt it. No point denying that, anymore.

He opened the door at the next tap and growled out something about not being disturbed.

She couldn’t hear the other man’s response but Hook’s reply was sharp, an inkling of the pirate captain cutting through his generally personable character. 

And then the door was closing, feet hastening away and before she realised she’d missed her chance at an escape, he was back again. Sliding into the bed, snuggling in close - though there wasn’t really much of an option considering the bed wasn’t much wider than her bunk.

“Do you want me to go?” she asked, her voice small.

“No, love. I really don’t.”

A swell of emotion choked her and, without a word, settled her head back on the pillow, focusing on how his body curled so perfectly up behind hers.

His hand crept back up over her waist and she allowed his touch to travel; his fingers walking up across her ribs until he was cupping a breast.

She made a lazy sound at the back of her throat and pressed against him as he kissed her shoulder, mildly annoyed he’d left the cotton trousers on.

Then he was biting her shoulder, his touch on her body more demanding and she angled her head around to kiss him, startled at his fiery reaction. She moaned hungrily against his mouth, her hands tugging and tugging at his waistband.

Then his teeth were back at the juncture of her neck and lust ignited between them.

His open palm smoothed along the flat planes of her stomach, sliding down, down, _down_ , eliciting a strangled cry from her throat. She felt him smirk against her neck, his knee tucking between hers to better the angle as he expertly worked her into a frenzy.

Afterwards, panting and sweat-slicked, she let him push the hair out of her face and pull her close again, his lips brushing gently against her shoulder as he shifted to entangle their legs.

She didn’t ask herself what it meant that she allowed him to do that. Didn’t ask herself why she had let herself stay instead of slinking off. Didn’t ask herself when she’d last felt so safe in another’s embrace. 

The potential answers to those questions scared her.

“Killian,” she ventured, testing his name on her lips. 

In truth, she wasn’t sure what she had been going to say. That she cared for him? That she wished they had more time? That she wished this didn’t have to be just a one-night thing? Thankfully, there was no response from him, his even breathing warm on her neck. 

And, if she’d been able to glance across the cabin, she would have seen their daemons on the tabletop, tightly entwined, a sleeping Sereia tucked beneath a very comfortable looking Sam.

\---

He was already dressed when she woke, blinking the fatigue from her eyes as he threw her an apologetic look.

“Sorry, love, if I miss another shift at the helm the crew will never let me hear the end of it.”

“How long do we have before we arrive?”

“A few hours at most.” He shrugged into his heavy, leather coat. “I’d advise a quick walk up on deck then choose a good moment to return back here. There’s a hidden handle here on the side of the bed. It lifts up easy enough. There’ll be ample room for you to wait there until it's safe to make your escape. No one knows about it but me.”

Both of them were silent for a long moment. Both he and Sereia looked subdued.

“So this is it, then,” she said. Her voice sounded heavy.

“Aye. Though it’s never too late to change your mind.”

She shook her head.

“Well, the offer is there, all the same.”

She stretched up and kissed him again, slow and sad, already mourning how easy it was to kiss him and how she’d never get another chance. When they parted his eyes looked so desperately sad and he had to clear his throat to speak.

“If you ever have need of a ship, look me up. I’d sail you anywhere.”

Their daemons touched noses in fond farewell.

She just nodded lamely.

“See you, Swan.”

“Killian.”

He ducked out of the door and she felt the cold hole of despair yawning in her chest. Tears burned hot but she refused to let them fall. Refused to weep over a situation she had stupidly created herself.

Sam butted his head against her leg and she busied herself with dressing and ensuring all of her belongings were tucked into her rucksack - all but the stolen papers that she folded and shoved into the torn lining of her coat.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” her daemon murmured.

“Don’t be sorry. I have no one to blame but myself.”

She was on deck for perhaps an hour, laughing with the deckhands as they scurried about in preparation for docking. Trading jibes with Will and his cheeky magpie-daemon, purposely distracting him as he started through his checklist of jobs. 

The journey had certainly been brief but being on the _Jolly Roger_ did feel quite reminiscent of being part of a family. A dysfunctional one, to be true, though she did not doubt she would have grown to love it if she had stayed.

Then, at last, it was just a matter of choosing the right time to slip back to the captain’s quarters and hide out until it was safe to make her getaway.

\---

“You’re more sullen than usual, Captain,” Smee pointed out as he joined his friend up on the quarterdeck. 

“Aye, but once we cash in the prince’s money and sell the stolen goods there’ll be more than enough to raise the spirits,” he replied, focusing his eyes on the encroaching harbour. A dark, rusty place crowded with people and noisy gulls. He could hear the cacophony already, mingled with the smells of the market already in full swing.

“You know, you could just ask her to stay.” Smee continued.

“He already has,” Sereia answered.

“Enough, Rei,” he interrupted his daemon, tone sharp.

“She said no,” Smee said, needlessly.

“It’s complicated,” Killian returned.

“It always is with you and women. I thought that’s why you’d decided to avoid relationships.”

He turned his dark-rimmed eyes to look at Smee, then, wanting to be angry but coming up short. The man was right. That’s exactly what he had decided and it had been going quite swimmingly until he’d met Swan, of course. 

“I suppose that’s the problem, Smee. Paying for a quick fumble between the sheets just isn’t the same.”

“So what you mean to say is that you enjoy the emotional stress that comes with pursuing a woman?”

“Spoken as a man who’s never attempted to woo a woman in his life.”

“That’s not quite fair,” the short man responded, “my attempts have just never been successful.”

Despite everything, Killian smiled at that.

“So what is it about this one, then? There must be something. You’ve managed well enough up ‘til now.”

“She doesn’t remember it, but we’ve met before.”

“You have?”

He nodded. “Remember a few years back, that time we were jailed after that particularly fortuitous run-in with our rivals?”

“Drunk and disorderly?”

“Aye,” Killian grinned. It still amused him that they’d locked up a bunch of pirates for being too noisy and set them free with a simple warning the following morning.

“We weren’t the only ones locked up there that night,” he continued

“The woman was there?”

Killian nodded. He’d recognised her voice, asking after him in the crowded inns, though he’d not been able to place it until after. The slight husky tone to her sultry voice. 

It had been too dark in the cells to get a good look at her during their first meeting, but he’d never forgotten that voice or the words she’d spoken - mostly to the stranger in the cell next to hers. 

He’d thought about just telling her, but that would have meant deeper explanations about why, after all this time, he still remembered it with such clarity.

_“If we do nothing. If we stand by and allow them to commit these crimes and call them justice, how are we any better? If less people stood by, idle, and allowed themselves to be bowed into submission maybe we’d all be living better lives.”_

_“You’re talking like a revolutionist.”_

_“No...I’m just sick of the lies we’re fed. Sick of the people who take them at face value and follow without question.”_

He knew she’d been lashed for whatever it was she had done. Had felt the furrowed marks between her shoulders. Silver stripes that should have been worn as badges of honour instead of a brand of ignominy.

“She’s trouble,” Smee grumbled, “perhaps it's for the best she said no. The last time...”

Killian felt himself tense up.

“With...Milah,” Smee ventured, sounding as if he was speaking a name previously forbidden. In a way, it had. No one spoke of her anymore. How vibrant she had been. So full of life, until, quite suddenly, she was not.

“Enough,” he snapped, “she’s not staying.”

Smee, after a moment, snuck off, leaving his captain in peace.

Sereia rubbed her head gently against him. The gesture soothing.

Still the man was probably right. Swan’s lashes had clearly done little to dissuade her from a life of rebellion. With her hefty bounty, she’d clearly gone onto bigger and more dangerous things. Better she disappear. A pirate’s ship had not protected his former lover, after all.

Better she be gone, then. 

Better for all of them.

\---

Emma lay silently in the hidden compartment beneath the bed, curled on her side with Sam snug against her. She’d kept her rucksack on so that when the time came she could be out in moments. 

Time crept by slowly. She heard the crew busy as they made port, the calls from the harbourmaster and his men scurrying to get things underway. She heard Killian’s voice declaring another successful voyage and then Will ordering his lackeys to begin to unload their cargo.

Eventually, when things had quietened, the rebel crew members began searching for her. She could hear them moving across the deck and then again beneath her. One came into the captain’s quarters, moving things around and her heart was in her throat, hoping that Killian had been right and that no one knew of her hideaway.

If they found her now...

Someone else searched the room later, a frustrated growl the only thing she heard before, once again she was left alone. And then, only when darkness shadowed everything, did she ease out of her hiding place, her body stiff and cramping.

She knelt and Samiran swiftly clambered into her pack.

Then she teased the door open a notch and listened. 

Silence. 

She could hear the slap of the sea and the distant ruckus of merrymaking, but on the ship, all was quiet. It was now or never.

She climbed over the far side of the _Jolly Roger_ and clambered across the struts holding up the rickety walkway, keeping low so that she could not be seen. Dropping down only when the water turned to a thin strip of pebbled shore, she used the sea wall to keep hidden until she reached the first of the buildings.

When she was far enough away she paused to collect herself, peering back through the shadows at the ship that had borne her away to safety. Emotion choked her, the moment interrupted by the sound of heavy boots coming her way. She pressed herself low, into the shadowed gap between the closest building and the wall and held her breath.

“...gone.”

“She can’t be gone. She has to be somewhere. There’s no way she’s managed to leave the town yet.”

“Teach is not going to let us come back empty handed.”

“I hope yah know what yer doing.”

“Let’s start closer to home, yeah?”

“What about Hook?”

“Teach’s got eyes on him. Think he expects to find her in his bed later.”

They all laughed.

The conversation lulled as they drew closer to the ship, clearly intending to restart their search. Relatively smart, although it was what she and Killian had planned for them to do. Get them searching in the wrong places.

She’d picked up at least four different voices in that gang but it was hard to tell from the footfall how many there had actually been - she’d dared not risk a look. And if there were more watching the captain and his men at the inn, it seemed this coup was bigger than expected.

Bigger and potentially far more dangerous.

_No_ , she thought, _Killian can take care of himself. He knows. He’ll be ready._

She needed to make her getaway.

Twenty minutes later saw her vaulting over walls, squeezing between narrow gaps, ducking behind piles of garbage and doing all she could to avoid leaving the shadows. She had paused again, hunkered down in a dark alley as two pirates lingered in the street. Across from her was the inn that she guessed the pirates were now making merry. The door was ajar and the noise floating into the street was filled with the raucous cheer she’d gotten used to from Hook’s crew. 

One of the lingering pirates leaned against the wall of the inn and the other was pacing casually back and forth, pausing every now and then to glance down one of the winding alleys. It made her nervous, wondering who else might be watching out for her - or for Hook.

She wished she could get a warning to him.

The pirate who was patrolling shifted his route and, before he could get too close, she retraced her steps, hauling herself up onto the low balcony of a fishmonger and through the open window above. Out of habit, she’d noted the window before and was glad that she had. She closed it behind her, softly, _softly_ , and hunkered down in the corner. The door to the room was ajar and she could hear people moving around on the floor below. This safe spot wouldn’t be safe for long if they caught her.

Nerves on edge, she crossed the room and dashed into the next, dropping out of a different window on the other side of the building - ending up in an alley at the back of the house. It seemed to be an enclosed space for the cluster of houses and she sprinted down the length of it, light on her feet, pulling herself up onto the far wall, trying to gain her bearings. The last thing she wanted to do was to run in a big circle and end up going back the way she had come.

Once she had orientated herself, the going got easier and she put the distance between herself and the inn with surprising ease. The only sign of the late hour was her growing fatigue and, having reached a smallholding tacked onto the back of some ramshackle houses, she took a moment to rest, lighting a lamp and settling in amongst the sows and hens.

She opened her rucksack and Sam emerged, looking more than pleased to be free.

“Where are we?” he asked, sniffing.

“Safe,” she assured, busy looking for warm clothes and the food she’d packed before she’d left the ship. Tugging out her jacket, she heard the chiming sound of something coming loose and hitting the stone floor.

Instinctively, Sam pounced at it, and then came his voice, “Emma…”

“What is it?” She unhooked the little lamp and drew it over her daemon’s head. The light caught on the object beneath his paws and then he stepped back and she saw it. The swan pendant she’d used to buy passage on Killian’s ship.

“What?” she grasped at it, the familiar weight of it settling in the palm of her hand. 

What did this mean? Why had he returned his payment? A normal person, she realised, might have seen this gesture as something kind and wonderful. He’d cared for her enough that he hadn’t wanted payment. But how could that be? He was still a pirate. Still required money to fuel the lifestyle that he lived.

“I think he just cared,” Sam volunteered tentatively, “no more than that.”

“We hardly know each other.”

“I think he understood you.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her considering...all their chats and… _other_ activities, but the return of payment had stirred emotions in her. A strange concoction of surprise and anger and fear. 

“He shouldn’t have done this.” She shoved the pendant roughly back into her pocket, snuffed out the light and sat in the dark. “If he knew me at all, he would have known not to do this.”

“He meant it as kindness.”

“Did he? He had no right! I don’t need this. I don’t _want_ it. I don’t want his charity or his pity.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Sam replied. “It’s a bad idea. Just leave it here if you don’t want it.”

Her eyes flashed. Anger seared and she squeezed the pendant in her pocket so hard that it bit painfully into her palm.

What should she do now? Slink away and leave Killian to deal with the huge mess that she had exacerbated? They weren’t just hunting her. They were watching him, too. At least six of them - seven including Teach.

“We should leave,” Sam pressed, “he’d want you to be safe.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. But when had Emma ever played it safe?

Besides, she needed to return the payment that was his by right.

She didn’t want the blasted pendant.

\---

Killian had probably drunk more than he should have, the alcohol leaving him feeling sluggish as he sat surrounded by a number of his crew, the barmaids tending to their needs. Normally he’d be playing along, flirting and laughing and gambling, buying drinks for crew members who he’d later swindle at cards.

But the atmosphere grated on him and he missed Swan. Missed her more than he should.

He hated himself for it.

Hated the way Smee kept giving him those knowing looks, enhanced by the slight tone of ‘I told you so’, that made him want to go punch something. Part of him was tempted to accept the advances of the next woman who showed any interest just to prove he was _fine_.

Instead he spent the next hour trying to put together a list of who was missing from the gathering, trying to pinpoint exactly who he’d have to dismiss before the next trip. Not easily done when some of the crew (mostly the younger ones) had gone to an establishment a little further afield. Something about beautiful twins and their gorgeous mother.

The usual suspects were definitely missing, however. Teach and his band of miscreants as well as a few others he was almost certain had not gone to seduce the women with the other lads. Ivik had gone with the other lads, at least, which meant he could confirm the attendees later.

Either way, he was going to have a lot of crew to recruit and this port wasn’t exactly known for its talent. Maybe it would be better to make do with lower numbers until they got to one of the large harbours.

“Scarlet’s here,” Sereia murmured, the first thing she’d said since he’d started drinking, having draped drowsily across his shoulders ever since.

He glanced up to see Scarlet chatting up some pretty little thing at the bar but otherwise did his best to ignore the boatswain - until he sauntered up with the girl on his arm.

Will leaned closer.

“The word is that no one’s managed to catch her,” he replied, keeping his face jovial as if they were talking about something else.

Relief flooded through him.

“And this here is Abigail. I think you should get acquainted.”

Killian took her hand, pasting on a wolfish grin.

“We’re being watched,” Will continued with a laugh to keep the pretense.

Killian felt the tension run through him. “How many?”

“Four just outside. There were two until about twenty minutes ago. They could just be looking for Swan but...to be honest, mate, I think this might be bigger than her.”

Killian nodded, drawing the young woman down onto his lap, “I believe so.”

If we’re going to make a move we’d best do it now.”

“And Teach?”

“No one’s seen him.”

“He’ll be orchestrating this thing from the sidelines. Grab a couple of the others and I’ll meet you upstairs. We’ll sneak out, take the ones outside by surprise. We’ll get two of them before they know we’re even there, even the playing field.”

“Which room?”

“Check the ones with the vacant sign.” 

With that done, Killian pulled the woman against him as he stood, guiding her towards the door with his hips. He caught Smee’s attention as he passed by, glad that the man seemed to take the hint. His demeanor changed, became guarded. He knew something was about to happen.

He led Abigail upstairs and thanked his good fortune that only one of the six rooms were vacant and dawdled outside it as he gave the confused looking woman a few coins for her trouble, “go out back. Take a break, love. I promise you’ll thank me for it.”

“You’re paying me to...leave?” she asked, sounding wary.

“Believe me, it’s for the best. I’m sure to be grievous company right now.” He kissed her knuckles and flashed her a smile, lingering just a moment to make sure she truly had made herself scarce.

Then, with a breath, he sidled into the room.

“Ah, at last, _Captain_. You’ve kept me waiting.”

_Well shit_.

He masked his surge of surprise beneath a look of bravado as he spotted Teach sat across from him looking smug, his wolverine-daemon baring its teeth.

Well, it seemed he’d walked straight into a trap.

“Not too long, I hope?” Killian replied, sticking with casual.

The broader man simply smiled back.

“Am I so predictable?” Killian continued.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Hook. I mostly expected to find you here already, balls deep in that rather valuable woman you smuggled across the sea.”

Killian’s smile turned dangerous.

Sereia hissed on his shoulder.

Teach leaned forward in his chair, unaffected, “where is she, Hook?”

“I’ve no idea,” he all but growled.

“Well that is rather unfortunate. You see, I’ve decided that I don’t much like the way you captain your ship anymore and sadly, for you, I’m not the only one who feels that way. So, as of now, I’ll be taking your ship and your crew - unless they decide they’d prefer to die alongside you, of course. It’s a shame, though. I _had_ hoped to collect on her bounty, too, but maybe you might be worth something to the local police.”

Behind him, Killian could hear the steady tread of someone (no, _someones_ ) approaching and hoped it was Scarlet coming with backup.

“You might find greater resistance than you expect,” Teach continued and sure enough the steps outside the door came to a halt. “You thought you had the element of surprise? Think again. You’ve underestimated me for the last time.”

“You’re not leaving here with anything, _mate_ ,” he bit out.

Teach just laughed and got to his feet.

But Hook, without warning, drew his shortsword and lunged, Sereia’s claws sinking into the soft leather of his coat as she prepared to leap.

Against Teach’s much bigger and much stronger daemon, she’d have no chance, but perched on her counterpart’s shoulders would also be a hindrance. With unspoken agreement, she leapt up into the rafters and well out of reach of fierce, snapping jaws.

Teach was bigger and stronger but what Killian lacked in size he more than made up for with skill. He’d handled himself in a fight since his early youth. The adrenaline was a familiar friend. Something to be embraced. His light footwork spun circles around the man, the wolverine snapping like a mad thing. He caught Teach across the arm, though the glancing blow barely registered, and shifted his stance to halt his opponent’s advance, the chime of swords echoing sharply in the small bedchamber.

Teach gave ground and Killian pursued, ducking beneath a swift arc of the blade and driving up with a force that would have taken out a lesser man.

Instead, it grazed across the side of the larger man’s neck and Teach retaliated with a sharp kick that caught Killian in the kneecap and sent him staggering back. Thankfully, he’d interpreted the next move correctly, his hook coming up to catch Teach’s blade before it could bury itself somewhere in his sternum. 

They paused a moment, trading dark looks, until Killian eased the tension into a smug smirk. He wasn’t captain for nothing.

He pushed himself upright again, leaping onto the rickety wooden bed and tracked movement above where Sereia was following him from the rafters.

Teach lunged again, his sword cutting into the mattress. Pieces of straw burst from the tear in the bed and Killian stepped down from the other side, pivoting neatly back towards the door to make sure Teach couldn’t make a run for it.

And then the door burst open and, disappointingly, it was not Scarlet with back-up but two of the pirates apparently loyal to the mutineer. Waiting to pounce. Waiting for their moment to shine during this ridiculous fucking set-up.

“Restrain him,” Teach commanded.

Their gull daemons flew at Sereia, trying to dislodge her from her place on the beam. He called out to her, sharply.

“I’m fine,” she cried out and Killian whirled back to where the pirates were advancing. He knew the pair of them relatively well. Could honestly say that he had held no particular feelings about them, neither negative or positive. Until that very moment, of course, when their daemons fell upon Sereia and his neutral feelings turned into seething hatred.

One of the pirates, a slimy man by the name of Notts, advanced, though his skill with the sword was average at best. He seemed to know it before they’d even engaged, his hand coming up to where a pistol rested holstered at his hip.

Wonderful. Were they going to hold him at gunpoint?

And then Sereia was yowling in rage and pain, the effect near paralysing as he turned to spy her still on her perch just behind him. She’d managed to pin one of the gulls beneath her paws but, in doing so, had left herself vulnerable to the other. The daemon - Notts’ daemon - dived at her, driving its beak at her head with relentless and startling aggression.

“ _Rei_!”

Killian lunged to defend her, shifting his focus back to Notts, who had been standing brazen as could be. He turned wildeyed, however, as the captain pressed the attack. The gull-daemon gave a shrill cry, voicing her counterpart’s surprise.

The move granted Sereia a moment’s respite and Killian swung forwards, arching his blade in a quick succession of swipes that wrenched the sword from the pirate’s grasp and severed two fingers in the process.

The pirate screamed, his gull turning back to Sereia in sudden desperation.

And then he remembered Teach - too late.

The wannabe-captain had used that precise moment to press the attack; Killian’s weight too far forward to keep his feet as the larger man barrelled into him. He collided into the bleeding pirate who shoved him away and then Teach’s fingers closed around the back of his neck, driving him down towards the floor.

Skull-splitting pain drove him to momentary unconsciousness and when he came to, a handful of seconds later, Sereia was lying on the ground next to him, looking as dazed as he felt. Teach’s daemon was looming over her, teeth covered in spittle, and he thought - in mild horror - that Rei had never looked so small and vulnerable as she did at that moment.

The amused shrieking of the gulls flared his anger but with the weight of Teach’s boot crushing down on his back, there was little he could do.

“You’ve gone soft,” Teach snarled, “when we met, you were a different sort of cat. Wild. Cruel. A hunter who preyed on the weak. Now? _Pah_.” He spat on the floor beside his head. “Domesticated. Nothing but a placating pet for every woman who sends you a smile or flashes her tits.”

Teach knelt down, grabbing at his left arm, twisting it painfully behind him. The force of it almost had him blacking out again. His vision receded, darkness drawing in amongst the flashing of stars.

Sereia whimpered, curled in on herself.

Rage flared. Shame, too. 

How many had been in on this plot? Were his loyal crew being accosted downstairs? Or distracted elsewhere? Oh, yeah, and where the _fuck_ were Scarlet and Smee?!

He tried to wrestle free again but the uninjured lackey was aiding in keeping him in place and Teach pulled his arm a little further, threatening the bones in their joints.

“You chose tits over money, Hook. You chose to keep that little whore to yourself instead of looking out for your crew.”

“If I didn’t know better,” he tried to keep his tone carefully flat - and mostly succeeded - “I’d say you sounded jealous. You know I’d have given you tips on wooing a lady if you’d just asked, _mate_.” He spat the last word, his tone menacing between gritted teeth.

Teach laughed and the pirates - who had been holding him face-down against the floor - tightened their grip. He tried to fight against them again, the rage in him almost enough to overpower the traitors - until the wolverine-daemon closed its teeth around Sereia’s neck.

“Stay still, won’t you?” Teach growled, and then he was pulling on his left arm again, attempting to twist the hook free from its brace.

There was a loud crash from the floor below, followed by a wave of angry shouting. He tried to concentrate on the onslaught of sound - to decipher exactly what was going on - and then Teach finally worked the hook free and stood, driving the toe of his boot into Killian’s ribs. He rolled onto his side, curling in on himself - much as Sereia had mere moments before - desperately trying to breath through the pain and the sensation of being strangled.

“Easy, there, girl,” Teach warned the wolverine, who relaxed her hold slightly from around Sereia’s throat.

“Now this is what’s going to happen,” the traitor leered. 

Killian blinked, trying to focus on the man hovering above him, gripping his hook in a threatening manner.

“Is it really wise to tell me your plan? When I get free I’ll know where to come looking.”

The man laughed and struck him without warning.

Pain exploded in his cheek, hot blood in his nose and mouth. He groaned, shifting the sound into a pained laugh. Through the fuzzy aftermath of being struck he tried to get up, tried to pinpoint where the next attack would come from. Then he was struck again, in much the same place. The room rotated and he fought down the intense need to vomit. He dropped his head back to the floorboards with a loud _thunk_ , closed his eyes and focused on not screaming expletives.

“Cocky bastard,” Notts cursed.

“Your officers are likely already dead,” Teach snapped, “and if they’re not, they’re turncoats. Either way they’re not coming. We had this little trap set, see. Had an inside man and everything. Keeping an eye on you, ready to distract your pathetic officers. Hunting down your blonde whore, informing the crew of your poor judgement. They’ll welcome me as their captain when this is all done. Especially seeing as I’m about to deliver them further fame and riches.”

“It’s getting heated down there, sir.”

“No matter. We’re done here,” the mutineer’s smile turned ugly, “we’re going to make an example of you, _Captain_.”

Then he looked up at his followers, holding up the hook: “Drag him back to the ship by this. I’d prefer him alive but if he gives you any trouble, his corpse will suffice. The message will be the same.”

And then pain flared, near blinding him. Killain reeled, clutching at the source of his torment in desperation, his fingers slippery with blood against the curve of metal. It was his hook, he realised, cruel and curved and lodged deep into the flesh of his shoulder. He writhed, grasping at it helplessly and only just managed to turn his head as he retched.

Sereia, somehow free of the wolverine, was dragging herself towards him, mewling pitifully, but he could barely see her, his breath sounding ragged and loud, the beat of his pulse like a drum in his ears.

How was he going to get out of this one?

Someone was speaking, maybe discussing exactly how they were going to ’drag’ him back to the ship. 

He’d sooner die than be made a spectacle of. Knew that Sereia was readying for that option. The black cat had crawled up against his chest, whimpering and rasping her tongue against his bloodied knuckles - still gripped around the hook.

One of the men were pulling at him. He tried to kick them off but the attempt was so feeble, it was barely worth the energy it took.

The men were clearly still trying to figure out how to get him out of the room when one of them suggested dropping him out of the window.

Killian favoured himself a survivor...but he wasn’t sure he’d come out of that unscathed. Still, it was likely their best course of action. It’s what he would have done if the life of his captive didn’t matter.

Then they started to drag him across the floor by a leg, sending savage pain through his body.

He dropped into unconsciousness.

\---

Emma swung through the open window and landed neatly on her feet, Sam ahead of her with a snarl. He was larger than a domesticated cat anyway, but arched up and angry, he looked positively huge - especially when compared to the daemons of the pirates she was up against.

Two of them, both with gulls. She vaguely recognised them but not enough to recall names, both plain-faced and similarly featured - related most like. The one - who had been attempting to drag a seemingly unconscious Hook - flew at her, his daemon at his side, and she side-stepped his advance, twisting low to snatch the blade from her boot. It came up with sharp precision, snapping the butt of its handle up into his jaw - the sound of his teeth clipping together somewhat horrific. She crouched beneath his hurried swing and twisted in the direction of his brother, brandishing the blade with a more deadly heat this time.

He skittered back and she leaned too far into her lunge, the strength of the posture stretched too far. With a flare of panic she tried to draw in her back leg, her front foot skidding against the slick surface beneath her. She fell, landing hard, the breath knocked from her. Thankfully Sam, who was ready at her side, lunged and pinned the man’s gull-daemon to the floor. 

The pirate’s reaction was immediate. Strained and panicked. It was hard to find sympathy for him, though and then the other pirate was advancing in defence of his comrade.

She rolled across the floor to avoid being stabbed and span back to her feet, brandishing her blade with a confident air.

He advanced again, forcing her to dance out of harm’s way.

She heard the other pirate moving behind her. Heard Sam’s shrill warning and then two things happened at once.

The gull who had been pinned wrenched free in a cloud of feathers and the door to the room burst open.

Will Scarlet came first, followed by Locksley and Midge. From the looks of them, they’d been quite involved in the scuffle going on down at the bar. Locksley’s sparrowhawk-daemon snatched at the recovering gull from the air and Will put a sword through the pirate’s back, kicking him off of his blade and to the floor.

The second man tried to flee for the window but Locksley had fired his crossbow, the sound of it whizzing past her ear, sending its target spinning dramatically to the ground. He hit the floor hard, the sound of his bubbling wheeze making her nauseous. His daemon weakly flapped its wings, death coming slow. No one moved to put an end to his suffering, though.

“Look at that,” Will grinned across at Emma, “your plan worked after all.”

“Get me some light over here,” she called, crossing the room quickly and kneeling down by the captain’s prone body. She pressed her fingers to his throat, feeling for the thrum of his pulse and realised, a moment later, that the mutineers had truly meant to kill him.

Will raised a lamp above her head and the string of curses that left his mouth accurately depicted her feelings on the matter.

“Shit,” Midge continued, “is he gonna make it…?

“I can feel his pulse.”

His face was swollen and bloodied, dark bruises already forming. He must have been bleeding heavily from somewhere, too, because she realised - then - why the floor was so slippery. It was dark with blood. _His_ blood. Her stomach twisted in horror.

“We need to get him out of here,” she rasped, “Teach will be wondering what’s going on and send people to look for him.”

“We can manage him between us.” Locksley replied, already moving to heave him up.

“Anyone know this place? If there’s a doctor nearby?” Emma asked.

“Maybe, but he’ll require payment.” Locksley replied.

“It’s fine. We’ll sort something out. Let’s just get him out of here.” Emma pulled Killian’s coat around him and started to fasten the buttons, enclosing Sereia against him, being careful not to touch her.

Once they had made sure Sereia was secure, the four of them somehow managed to get him downstairs. The place looked as if it had been ransacked - furniture upturned, smashed glass, the stench of spilled alcohol. Two women were weeping and clinging to each other behind the bar. An older woman, likely the owner of the establishment, glared at them as they passed and warned them not to come back.

Will muttered an apology as they carried Killian out into the open air, choosing to ignore the sprawl of motionless bodies left sprawled in the street.

The whole town had a different feeling to the ones back home. This place was rougher around the edges, a town of thieves and the unfortunate. The number of beggars was significantly higher, skinny little kids picking a pocket at every given opportunity. Now, in the dark, she wanted to be somewhere else. Yearned for the comfort of the _Jolly Roger_ \- maybe lost to them now.

“Ah shit, this is not good.” Midge grumbled, sounding out of breath.

“How far do we have to carry this heavy arse?” Scarlet groused.

“Not too far.” Locksley growled.

Not far actually meant twenty minutes of heart-pounding travel along main streets, desperately hoping not to be spotted by the rival pirates. Thankfully the streets were mostly abandoned and anyone who did see them pretended not to and gave them a wide berth.

The doctor’s house was just as ramshackle as the others and Locksley’s fist pounded on it with abandon. “Open up, Whale.”

It took an excruciating wait and, at last, a short-haired man with a crooked, slimy sort of grin, appeared at the door. The slight gleam to his eyes suggested he’d been drinking but he ushered them in all the same, peering curiously at their unconscious burden.

“Bring him through,” his voice was surprisingly well-to-do.

The man likely made a small fortune by offering his services to people who had no other options.

“Put him here,” he said, “I trust you have payment?”

They placed him on the wooden table, Emma’s hand lingering on his arm for a moment. He looked deathly pale and lacklustre, a striking contrast from his usually lively countenance. When she looked up, the pirates were scrambling to gather payment between them.

Too long. Everything was taking too long.

Her hand went to the pendant in her pocket and she thrust it in the doctor’s direction.

“Will this do?” She snapped, not feeling happy that they were bargaining for the captain’s life whilst he bled out next to them.

The doctor eyed it for a moment, “well, I usually only accept coin but...since you asked so nicely.” He threw the pendant across onto his sideboard and ushered them with a hand. “Get out. Let me work in peace.”

Emma wanted to argue, maybe even would have, if the others hadn’t gone without a fuss. Sharing a glance with Sam, she followed after.

“What the hell are we doing to do?” Midge asked. He crouched down beside the doctor’s house and Emma joined him, sliding her back against the wall until she was sitting on the floor - the familiar chill of the stone creeping into her aching bones. 

“We need to figure out who’s left.” Locksley replied.

“The cowards’ll be with Teach, for sure.” Midge continued, his racoon-daemon chittering anxiously.

“The others? Dead if they didn’t get away or agree to follow.” Locksley muttered.

“Smee?” Midge asked.

Will shrugged. No one had seen him. Maybe his body lay amongst those outside the inn.

“And if the captain dies?” Midge asked.

Emma felt her heart clench in despair.

\---

It was near daylight, the horizon walking that precarious thread between day and night when the door to the house opened and the doctor strode out, hands in pockets, to see them. His face was carefully neutral at first and Emma fancied how it would look smashed beneath her fist. The feeling didn’t lesson when a smug smirk curled across his face instead.

“There’s no quick fix for his injuries, but he’ll live.”

“Is he awake?”

“No. But when he does you’ll need to get him away from here. I won’t be caught with a pirate in my house, not with trouble brewing.”

“Aye, sure Doc.” Midge replied.

“You need to go, lass?” Will asked.

Emma knew that she did. Knew that she should. If not just for her than for Killian. He was saved. He would one day be well again, fierce and vengeful, chasing Teach across the seas in quest for his stolen ship. He would have no need of her help, that was for sure.

“Will you tell him I got away safely?”

Will grinned, “I already did, m’lady. Just before it all went to hell.”

She nodded but still she hesitated. Midge and Locksley were already back in the house.

“You should go help them,” Emma said at last, daring a glance up at Will. It was a mistake. He was staring at her with unmasked amusement and his magpie daemon gave a harsh cackle

“I do believe you may have fallen, Ms Swan.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He’s not a bad sort, you know. As far as pirates go. Puts the stereotype to shame, really.”

“Scarlet…” she warned.

He held up his hands placatingly, “Well, if you do stay, at least tell the captain that I tried to persuade you to leave, eh?”

Emma did not follow him into the house. Nor did she leave. Instead she lingered in the shadows, keeping watch for any signs of trouble. But none came and, eventually, the sun heaved up above the tops of the one storey houses, chasing mist from the streets and bringing life. The people woke, traversed the cobblestones to their places of work. Women hustled to markets, swept the doorsteps, shouted at rambunctious little children.

Of pirates there was no sign. Either friendly or otherwise.

“We should go, Sam.” She said. It was a good idea to leave now, when the streets were so busy. Hitch a lift out of town and disappear.

“Should we?” he asked.

“Yes.”

But still she made no move to go. Moving not an inch until the door to the doctor’s house swung wide and the pirates emerged, Killian’s arms slung over their shoulders as they supported him. He had not seen her, bent forwards as he was, head hanging, feet struggling to find their footing. Of Sereia there was no sign and she assumed she’d been nestled in the front of his coat once more.

“Emma?” Sam queried, loping at her heel as she followed after them at a distance. They did not go far, moving slowly across the square and down a few twisting alleys that took them away from the hustle and bustle. Then she watched them ascend a rickety looking staircase and out of sight.

“Let’s go,” she said at last, spinning on her heel, willing away the emotion burning in her eyes and throat. She was an idiot, wasn’t she? An idiot for falling for him. An idiot for giving her heart to someone who was the very opposite of what she needed. Stability. Reliability.

A pirate who went where the winds took him. Who never stayed put. Who’s fancies changed with every port. It was a stupid, ridiculous notion. It could never happen.

Right?

_Right_?

She swept around the corner, heading back to the main square and ran straight into someone coming the other way at speed. She was knocked flying to the cobbled street, too stunned to reach for her knife…

...which was lucky, then, for it was Smee she had bumped into. Smee who was currently trying to pick himself up off of the floor. Three others were behind him. Three deckhands she recognised - with a flood of relief.

“Smee! You’re alive?”

The man blinked at her, surprised and then panicked. “Miss Swan?”

“Are you being followed?”

“Main square,” Smee replied.

“Come with me,” she said, dragging herself up to her feet and turning back the way she had come. If it had been any other crew member she would have been torn on whether to trust them or not. But Smee was one of the most trusted members of Hook’s crew.

They ran as fast as they dared, slowing down only when they neared their destination. She led them to the bottom of the staircase, making sure that they were not followed. After a few long minutes, she ascended the stairs and shoved the window open, leaning in.

“I thought you’d gone,” came Will’s voice and he held out a hand and pulled her inside.

“That was the intention,” she grumbled, “Until I bumped into some friends of yours.” She stepped aside to catch her breath and Smee and the others bundled in after her. She even spared a smile to see how happy they were to be reunited - the little group of vagabonds doubling the size of their crew.

“Is the Captain here?” Smee asked.

“Yeah, he is. I need someone to stay watch here.” Scarlet replied.

“I’ll stay,” Emma volunteered. The deckhands offered to stay, too. They seemed jittery and she felt better for their company.

“How’d you get away?” she asked.

“We were at another inn,” they explained. “Smee came and got us out before Teach’s crew caught up with us. There were more of us, but…”

Emma didn’t need to hear the end of that sentence, not with how shaken they all looked. These lads were new to the game. This was likely their first proper clash and none of them had been prepared for it.

“I don’t think they killed them,” Tide murmured after a moment.

“Wishful thinking?” the other deckhand, Alex, replied.

“He needs a crew. Kids are easy to turn.” Tide continued, “besides, Ivik was with them.”

“They could still find us, too.”

“This town is full of nooks and crannies. They won’t have enough time to search all of it.” Emma replied, sounding more confident than she felt.

The lads agreed somberly, their chatter cut off when Will stuck his head back in the room.

“Uh, sorry, he’s...asking to see you.”

Her blood ran cold at that. Scarlet’s face looked uncertain. Maybe he’d been expecting the captain to be happy about her return and was unsure about why he wasn’t?

The others were vacating the room as she drew nearer, not giving her a second glance - lost in conversation about next plans. Needing maps. Needing to pilfer some sort of transport. She blew out a long breath and decided to play it cool.

She pushed the door open with the toe of her boot and sank into the doorframe, arms crossed casually in front of her. “Wasn’t expecting to cross paths with you again so soon,” she had meant to keep her tone light but it sounded too layered with meaning.

He had been hunched in a chair, his body held at an odd angle, but at her voice he looked up, tried to stand, but then seemed to think better of it - probably for the best considering how much support he’d needed to get to where he was.

“So it’s true then,” he replied, “you didn’t leave.”

“Hoping to be rid of me so quickly?” It hurt and his cold laugh didn’t help.

“This is a habit of yours, Swan, jumping to conclusions, thinking the worst of people.”

“You’re angry.”

“Damn right I’m angry. You’ve taken a big risk, Swan. I underestimated the enemy and in this line of work that tends to be fatal.”

“And yet, here we are.”

He used the arm of the chair to hoist himself to his feet and she stepped forwards to aid him, setting a hand at his elbow, ignoring the bite of pain in his face - jaw clenched, brow furrowed. His usually lively blue eyes were dark and strained. He’d obviously been struck across the head during his fight, one eye was badly bloodshot, his lip split, horrific bruising and swelling along his cheek and nose.

She was filled with a desperate urge to reach up and caress the bruises.

“You need to leave. Tonight. It’s not safe here. If they catch up with--”

“--I can take care of myself.” It sounded foolish the moment the words had left her mouth. Killian could have said the same and look at him, only alive because she and his crew had intervened at the last moment.

His grip on her arm tightened painfully, his fingers shaking. The look in his eyes was almost wild now. “Stop being so stubborn and listen.”

She broke eye contact then, her lowering eyes settling on that of their daemons. Their daemons - who were currently expressing a very different sort of emotion to one another. Sereia was purring, pressing close, arching up to tuck her head against Sam’s neck. They’d clearly opted to indulge in the emotion their human counterparts were currently refusing to acknowledge.

Relief.

Longing.

Killian’s grip wavered, diverting her attention back to him.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

“You’re not pleased to see me,” it wasn’t a question.

“No, it’s just…”

A hush settled over them.

Their daemons curled lovingly into one another.

What did he want to hear? She didn’t know the answer herself. Was it because he’d refused to accept payment? Was it because she was worried? Or did she just want the chance to say a last goodbye - to secretly slip the pendant back into his pocket so that he’d have something to remember her by. So he wouldn’t forget. So that this would mean something.

But there was no pendant anymore. That subservient little swan with its drooping head and half-furled wings had brought him his life.

Her debt to him was paid.

Finally she settled on: “I don’t know,” and could have wept at the look on his face.

“I see.”

But he didn’t see, not really.

It wasn’t him. It was _her_. It was how her life had shaped her; into this cold, untrusting thing who dared not hope that good things ever happened to her.

She helped him settle back into the chair, pointedly ignoring their nuzzling daemons, and lifted back his coat to check on the wound beneath. She could feel his breath against her cheek, shuddering, and it sent tingles down her spine.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Walked into a trap,” he replied lowly. “Teach had been waiting for me at the inn. I managed to alert Scarlet but not before we got into a fight. Would have won, too, if he’d not had backup...if they’d…” his eyes dropped to Sereia. “He bested me, relinquished me of my hook, told his lackeys to drag me back to the ship.”

“Is this all my fault?” she asked, finally touching his bruised cheek with the pads of her fingers. He turned his head beneath her touch, brushing his lips to her palm.

Her breath hitched and his eyes were back on hers, almost pleading.

“What will you do now?” she breathed out.

“Get my ship back. Make them all wished they’d never turned on me,” he replied, his voice full of carefully controlled rage.

The words were on her tongue, on the very tip of it, but she faltered at the last moment. _Come with me_ , she had wanted to say, _come with me. Get well. Let me help you._

His right hand came up, cradled her cheek, drew her closer.

“Why did you come back?” he asked again.

“You know why,” she choked out before she could stop herself.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Her face twisted, “I can’t.”

But his eyes were penetrating and she felt as if he were reaching in to take the answers she was desperately trying to hide.

_Because I care for you more than I should. I care what happens to you. I don’t want you to die. I want to live in hope that we’ll meet again someday._

His fingers started to creep back into her hair but panic had her retreating from him, staggering backwards towards the door. Sam leapt up with a sound of displeasure, moving to follow her.

“I’m not him, you know.”

“Who?”

“The man who hurt you.”

How did he know? How could he possibly know the hurt she had suffered? The look in his eye, that knowing, sad look. Perhaps some might have found it a comfort but that connection...it only terrified her.

“I should let you rest,” she blurted.

She left him alone.

\---

Sereia limped back towards him, pulling herself up onto his knee, sitting there quietly a moment, staring at the closed door with a yearning mirrored in his own heart.

“Too much?” he ventured.

“Perhaps a little too soon,” the black cat replied, “but she came back. She came back to help us and she’s still here.”

“I can’t say that I’m unhappy she’s here,” he admitted, “but it’s dangerous. She shouldn’t stay.”

“Then what will you do? She has her own journey ahead. Will we give up the sea for her?”

“Maybe we already have.”

“You think Teach will leave with the _Jolly_?”

“He might if he thinks it too risky to stay. It’s what I would do if I wasn’t sure I could beat an enemy. The spoils are too great to risk.”

“Then what will we do?” Sereia pressed,

“The others will want to make a move. No pirate wants to be stranded.”

“No pirate wants to die, either,” Sereia pointed out.

“If he sails away, he’ll be near impossible to chase down. There’ll be no way to keep track of him. Unless…”

“Unless we can plant someone on the crew.”

Locksley knocked on the door and entered quietly. 

“What’s the mood out there, mate?”

“There’s been a lot of talk.” Robin began, “with our current numbers we won’t be able to take back the ship, not until we know how many people are truly loyal to Teach and how many of us survived the initial skirmish. If we turn up now, demanding he pay for his treachery, it could be a fatal error. Especially with you injured as you are.”

Killian cursed. His injury was the main sway at that moment. The rest of his company had only superficial injuries. But he was the key. He needed to take charge and, now, with the pain medication fading, he was very aware of just how lucky he was to still be alive at all.

“By the time you've healed, the _Jolly Roger_ will be long gone.”

“We’re going to have to let her go,” Hook replied, coming to the conclusion slower than he should have. It killed him to have to say it. That was _his_ ship. But he was going to make them pay.

Locksley shifted uneasily on his feet, “looks that way, Captain.”

He shook his head, “listen. I’ve got a plan in the works.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the longer than usual wait on this chapter. There was some unplanned editing that needed to be done before I was happy to post.

The crew had gathered round, their daemons quiet and apprehensive. Hook was on his feet, though from the look of him, that wouldn’t last. His face was drawn tight with pain and Emma could see the sheer exhaustion in the lines around his eyes.

It was a marvel that he was still awake at all. Should have probably been resting.

But she knew, just as they all did, that time for rest was a luxury none of them currently had.

The crew seemed mostly agreeable to the plan for a temporary withdrawal. Though none of them had wanted to hear it, no one could argue that an attack would be anything but suicide at that point. Sure, there was a chance that they could get lucky and find that Teach only had a handful of loyal crew serving him. But fear did things to people and most of the pirates wouldn’t be keen on lifting their heads up above the parapet until they were certain they knew who was on the winning side. Hook, with his injuries and his skeleton crew might not be the most inspiring.

Besides, if Teach had any concern that he might not win in a vote of popularity, he’d flee. Might even already be out at sea by now.

So, instead, they opted for the long game, agreeing to set a mole into Teach’s crew from whom correspondence could be sent, detailing everything they would need to know to press the attack. Locksley and Will both offered to take the role and both had been turned down. Their loyalty to Captain Hook was known to all and it was more likely that they’d meet some horrible fate.

In the end, it was Midge who volunteered his services.

“Not that I particularly want to, but I’m the best man you’ve got. I’ll slink on board during the prep and they probably won’t even notice me.”

And that was true. He was a forgettable sort, neither an officer nor a lowly cabin boy, who knew how to avoid attention. If he slipped into the fray and set about his business it was likely no one would think anything of it.

He left shortly after the meeting, his racoon-daemon trotting after him.

No one seemed happy about it, even if it was the right decision.

Shortly after, Smee and one of the deckhands slipped into town to find them transport. It was too risky to stay in town now and with their plan settled, there was no reason to linger.

After that the captain dismissed himself and Emma curled up in the corner and fell asleep, missing the rock of the ship and her little bunk that had made her feel so safe and hidden from the world.

She woke to darkness and the scrape of a boot, her hand flying to her knife. It was Smee, returned from the town, reporting first that there had been no sign of Teach’s cronies and second, that he’d found someone who would get them out of town at first light.

And that’s how they ended up crammed into the back of a ramshackle cart - smuggled amongst hay bales - being jostled along a bumpy track. And she, foolishly, had taken the space next to the captain. Could do nothing but listen to the sharp, hissing sounds of pain he made every time the cart’s unforgiving wheels turned over a dip or rise in the road. No one spoke - no one dared - and Emma did the only thing she could - gripped his arm tight to anchor him, watching his head loll as he dipped in and out of consciousness.

The journey, whilst not long, had been torture.

“We need to get away from the road,” Locksley spoke up, the town long behind them now.

“The captain needs rest,” Emma insisted. 

Killian shrugged her off, apparently lucid enough to follow the conversation, “we keep moving. There’ll be plenty of time for resting when we’ve set up camp.”

And so, begrudgingly, they left the road and traipsed through trees for as long as they could manage, eventually coming to a stop in a clearing where they busied with building up a fire and preparing food. 

By then, Killian was clearly not in a good way and Emma kept her eye on him as she helped the others. He did not move from where he had slumped against a fallen tree, however, and made it clear that he did not wish to be disturbed.

Eventually, she relented and brought him his food, only to find him dozing fitfully. Concern roiled and she knelt beside him, smoothing the hair from his brow. His skin was hot and clammy beneath her fingertips, his eyes flaring open at her touch, looking disorientated.

“Swan?”

He lurched away from the tree, body shaking as he reached into his coat with fumbling fingers.

“Bloody--where’s it gone?”

She knocked his hand gently aside and reached into his pocket, retrieving first his flask and then a small glass container filled with medication.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

He nodded, blearily, reaching for the container, but she held it just out of reach.

“Here, let me.”

He said nothing, allowing her to open the container and drop two of the pills into his palm. 

“Eat. Sleep. That’s all you need to do, now,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind.

For once, he did as he was told, and she huddled close to him, too worried to care what the others might think - if they even thought anything at all.

\---

His sleep was dark and empty at first. Endless and all consuming. So deep that not even the sounds of his crew could stir him. (They had tried to wake him once but to no avail.)

Later, the darkness became rife with dreams. 

Of a translucent ship rising from the waves and taking to the sky. Of sinking beneath the ocean, as if weighted down, reaching for the surface even though there was no one there to help him. 

Of a woman with golden hair kissing the life back into him, the pale curve of her body turning in until she had become a crescent moon, hung just out of reach.

And finally it was pain that dragged him back to the waking world. Pain made perhaps a little better for the sight of waking to her green eyes on him, her expression utterly solicitous.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty,” she quipped, offering him a smile.

“How long was I out?” his voice sounds rough.

“Over a day.”

“Where is everyone?”

“Mostly hunting. They should be back soon.”

“And they volunteered you to take care of the invalid,” he griped, gently easing himself up into a sitting position and shuffling back so he could lean against the tree he had claimed for his own. He kept his teeth gritted against the pain as he did so, releasing a shaky breath when he was finally done moving.

She gave a sad laugh and sat beside him, their legs almost touching. “Actually, I offered.”

He thought about that for a moment and let the silence between them draw out. She had opened the lid on his pills again, handing them across to him without ceremony. He swallowed them dry and, without a word, took the offered flask of water.

“You’re still here,” he said at last.

“I am,” she replied, her voice sounding small. He was glad that she was there with him but not quite sure he understood why.

“I feel I need to apologise, love.”

“For what?”

“For my anger. I should not have directed it towards you.”

She just shrugged, neither looking comforted nor aggrieved.

He decided to take a risk, “tell me then, Swan, now that I have you alone. What are you thinking?”

“What? You can’t tell just by _looking_ at me?”

“As good a reader as I am, the specifics are sometimes beyond even me. Besides, take pity on me, love. I’m not in the best shape.”

She nodded, her smile tentative.

“So, how about distraction from the pain then. What do you say to a trade?”

“Trade?” she sounded worried.

“Aye. I’d like to get to know you a little better, now that we have the opportunity, hm?” He lifted an eyebrow queringly and she ducked her head. The action endeared her to him.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

“Lots of reasons, I guess. I just...I was almost away and I couldn’t shake the feeling that you were in trouble. That Teach was up to no good. I owed you.”

“You owed me nothing, Swan.”

She opened her mouth - perhaps to argue - but then her jaw clicked shut and she looked away.

He knew it wasn’t the whole truth but it was a partial truth and that was all that mattered, perhaps. She was at least willing to part with some details.

“Your turn,” he replied, shifting against the tree and settling his left arm in his lap.

“Are you going to be okay? I mean...you lost your ship. You almost… _died_ ”

He looked across at her, suddenly, her words twisting hard in his chest. He had lost his ship. His home. His health. But he wasn’t ready to think too hard on that. Just nodded and said: “aye, lass. I’m a survivor. Just need to lay off the daring adventures for a bit.”

On the grass by their feet, Sam nudged affectionately at a subdued Sereia and she shifted to make room for him beside her.

He hesitated a moment before asking his next question. A question that had been burning through him the moment he had started to question the reasoning behind her skittishness.

“Who was he? This man who broke your heart?”

If she was surprised by his question there was no sign, just a sad sort of acceptance and a long, weary sigh.

\---

“His name was Neal,” she answered, trying to keep things simple. Factual statements. It was easier to think of them that way. Like she was reading them in a piece of nonfiction, bullet points about a man who had no connection to her at all. “He caught me trying to break into his place, promised not to turn me in if I helped him out on a few jobs. He was a thief who hated the system. We pulled off some pretty impressive heists together and a few jobs turned into a lot more. 

“He was the first person to give a damn about me. Made me think he cared. It was stupid. _I_ was stupid. He framed me and I got jail time for a crime that I didn’t even commit.” Not that she hadn’t deserved it. She had committed plenty of crimes that she should have answered for, just not that _particular_ one. 

“I looked for him after. I wanted answers. I wanted to punch him in the face. But he was long gone. Old haunts abandoned. Haven’t seen him since. Haven’t wanted to.”

She’d thought it was love. The real deal. Days with him had been exhilarating. Living hand to mouth, the adrenaline of the jobs. She’d felt so _alive_. So happy and special for the first time in her entire life.

Her hands trembled and she clenched them tight to keep them steady against the tops of her thighs.

“He was a fool,” Killian growled.

“I was more the fool. He had me utterly hoodwinked.”

She knew he wanted to say more, could probably sense how badly it had broken her. How she’d never really been able to pick up the pieces of her heart.

“And what about before?” Killian asked quietly.

“Before?”

“You said he was the first to care.”

“Ah,” her mouth turned wry. Most of the time these personal questions made her angry or wary. But with the way he was looking at her now - his poor, ruined face and earnest eyes…

Damn, did she want to trust him.

The truth spilled out of her before she could truly comprehend it.

“I didn’t have a family. No one wanted me. I spent most of my childhood in an orphanage, but that’s two questions now.”

He gave a huff of gentle amusement.

“What about you?” she asked, “have you ever been in love?” it wasn’t the question she had planned to ask at all. Hadn’t realised - until that moment - that she cared about his romantic history. But there had always been something in his eye. A shared sadness. A depth of understanding. 

“Aye,” he replied, his hand coming up to rest over his bandaged shoulder, fingers pressing into it slightly. “There was a woman.”

It was then that Emma noticed Sereia come creeping up to him, nosing into the opening of his coat until she was pressed against his side. Her eyes looked so dreadfully sad.

“She sailed with me for a time but things were...complicated. She was married and her husband a vengeful bastard. When he caught up with us, let’s just say I failed on multiple counts to keep her safe.”

“He hurt her?”

His jaw clenched tight and she felt her blood run cold, an apology on her lips. But what good would a ‘sorry’ do? It wouldn’t change anything. She touched a hand to his forearm, instead. Wordless but understanding of his heartache.

What she’d had...it had been false, even if it hadn’t felt like it at the time. But Killian had lost the real thing. A love returned.

“So,” she ventured, at last, when the silence had stretched too thin, “was offering me safe passage some sort of atonement?” 

He smiled at her wearily, “questioning my motives again, Swan?”

She faltered, hesitant, embarrassed.

“Is it so hard to believe that maybe I just wanted to see you safe? That maybe I’m-”

“-A good man?” she interrupted, unreasonably afraid of letting him finish the sentence himself. “It’s hard for me to believe that anyone would do anything for me without motivation. Especially if that someone is a complete stranger.”

“And as I keep telling you, I _do_ know you.”

She chewed nervously on the inside of her lip, “I think that’s why I’m still here,” she replied carefully, trying desperately to be brave even though fear was trying to claim her. “I don’t really know why but...I think...I think I trust you.” She could not bring herself to look at him, worried about his silence. Worried about her admission of it. It made her terrifyingly vulnerable. Could leave her nothing more than a dried up husk.

He seemed to sense it - her closing up on herself, her unreasonable fear and panic. The sensation of needing to bolt. His touch was gentle, his body turning into hers, his touch on her shoulder drawing her inwards. She gripped his left arm in response and would have turned into his body completely if she were not suddenly aware of his injuries.

“Emma…”

Her name was so sweet on his tongue, a whispered promise laced with something that could have been labelled as desire. It sent a ripple through her body.

“Why did you come to me on the ship that day?”

She knew what he meant, his words invoking memories of their endless kisses and twined bodies, his mouth pressed against intimate parts of her, drawing those pleasured sounds from her throat.

She swallowed, unsure what to say.

“I wanted you,” was her only answer, simple but raw in its honesty, “and I hadn’t expected…”

His mouth twitched with amusement, “to be so thoroughly ravished?”

Her face burned hot, she dipped her head. “I was expecting a pirate.”

“So you got more than you bargained for?”

“A little.” That was the understatement of her life.

“We can try again if you like. I can be a little more ‘pirate’ if it would please the lady.”

“I just thought once we arrived, I wouldn’t see you again. You got in my head. I wanted to…”

“To let go.” It wasn’t a question.

She blinked, rapidly, dispelling tears.

“You know, part of me thinks I should feel wounded at being so used,” he smiled, cocking an eyebrow. ‘But I’d be lying if it wasn’t a method I had utilised in the past.”

“Pirate,” Emma reminded with warmth, “I thought. I mean...you’re never in one place for long. It’s hard to have anything more than just one night, isn’t it?”

“And what if I stuck around?”

Emma did not want to think about that. Not even a little. That line of thought opened up dangerous doors to emotions she wanted no part of. Attachment. Trust. Dependence. Love...one of those had already been assigned to him. She couldn’t afford to label him with the others even though her traitor of a daemon seemed to be suggesting she already did. The jaguarundi had edged around her and was stepping over one of Killian’s outstretched legs, craning his head forward to touch his muzzle to Sereia’s. He wasn’t touching the pirate but he was so close, practically in his lap. It made her head swim. 

And, on risking a look at Killian, she saw that he was equally affected. His eyes were fixed on Sam, his breath held.

And then Sereia slunk out from her place in his coat and the pair of them moved across to their own space beside them.

“Emma…” Killian said, his voice tense. She looked at him again, startling at how close his face was. She knew he was going to kiss her, could tell by the darkening intensity in his eyes. Was scared by the fact that she wanted him to, that she was tilting her head to give him easy, unrestricted access to her mouth.

And then there was muffled laughter and Locksley stepped into the clearing - entertained by some joke his sparrowhawk had made. She jolted away from him, ignoring the cutting look Locksley was throwing their way and leaned forwards to poke the fire back into life with a long branch.

Her initial reaction was disappointment.

“Good to see you’re up. I left the lads skinning rabbits,” Locksley replied, moving over to join them.

Once the disappointment faded she realised that the man’s unexpected intrusion was a blessing in disguise. Had stopped her from making a huge mistake. The one night with Captain Hook was all it could ever be…

Even if their daemons were still sat side by side, nuzzling at each other like the little traitors they were..

By the time the rabbits were skinned, prepped and cooking on a spit, night had fallen and the eight of them were seated around the fire. The buzz of the atmosphere rolled over her, adding a melancholy warmth to the heat of the flames. Beside her, Killian was subdued and she knew he’d taken more pain medication. His face seemed drawn, the swelling turning fantastic colours around his eye, cheek and nose. Still, when a jest was thrown his way he’d at least attempt a response - clearly not wanting to let on how uncomfortable he was.

Still, despite her worry for his state of health, the evening was surprisingly enjoyable, listening to the back and forth of the crew and their well-told stories.

She learned that Scarlet’s first impressions had been left wanting. He’d attempted to pickpocket the captain whilst he’d been distracted with some pretty woman. Hook had noticed, of course, punched him square in the jaw and gotten him locked up - only to have second thoughts and come to bail him out the following morning with a job offer. She also learnt that the three deckhands were cousins, all of them causing absolute mayhem for their poor, exasperated parents. Eventually the wild trio had been kicked out by despairing mothers and had signed up to sail with the _Jolly Roger_ a few months after.

Most surprising of all was that Locksley was married and that, until his wife had gotten pregnant with their first child, she had joined them on their voyages, and maybe would again when their son was of an age. Unless, of course, the man decided to do something more law abiding in the meantime.

Smee had been with Killian the longest. He didn’t have the easy-going character of their captain but he perhaps rivalled him with his knowledge of ships and the sea. Smee was maybe a few years older than the captain and came across as awkward or suspicious - particularly with her. But his loyalty to Killian and the crew was unquestionable. It was the first time that Emma realised why it was Smee who was quartermaster and not Locksley.

She dreaded her turn for a story but either no one was interested or they knew not to push her. She did not volunteer and they did not request.

They fell asleep around the fire and she woke at first light to the dawn chorus, coated in dew and a bone-deep chill that took hours to work out of her limbs.

And though she dared not offer herself as a crutch to the captain, she noted how awkwardly he moved and how he eventually snapped at anyone’s offer of help.

Stupid male pride.

\---

Two days later and Killian’s pain had lessened considerably, the strain in his face having eased, colour returning and there was talk of coming up with a plan for their next steps. By now Teach would have been out at sea and Locksley argued there was no real point in making any plans until they had word from Midge.

“Might as well take up residence and wait for the agreed correspondence,” Smee replied. “We need to know how likely the crew is to back us. If they are then we can take back our ship easily.”

Emma could feel the captain’s eyes on her but she purposely avoided looking at him.

She knew what question he wanted to ask but, as of yet, she had no answer. And, as they’d not been alone since that day in the clearing, it had been easy to avoid it.

Still, she accompanied them along the beaten paths, allowing Locksley to navigate with calculated efficiency, concentrating only on the burn in her legs from the long trek. 

Eventually they reached their destination. A small and slightly rundown looking farmhouse on the edge of a forgettable little town. It belonged to a relative of Locksley’s who had, begrudgingly, agreed to let them stay in the outhouses in return for their help on the fields. Thankfully, they only shared their new home with farming equipment and not with livestock - other than a couple of free-roaming chickens and a small but scary flock of geese. There was a well close by, fresh produce to fill their bellies and enough space that people were able to find privacy if they so needed.

Pirates, however, seemed not too worried about sharing the same living space. Emma thought that, away from the ship, they’d revel in the chance of sleeping on their own but the men strung up hammocks or slept on blankets almost as close as they would have in the quarters on their ship. All except for Killian, of course, who seemed to be strangely fidgety and unsettled.

Emma wondered whether it were his injuries or whether it was something else that had him on edge, but either way she couldn’t completely relax knowing that he was not.

And she still had to decide on when she was going to leave.

\---

Killian looked up as the door to the barn was swung open on its hinges, Robin appearing from behind one of the rusting plows.

In the short time they had been there, he had not been able to relax, irritated at the nagging pain in his shoulder, his rapidly depleting rum and now? The look on his Sailing Master’s face.

“Well, spit it out,” he grumbled, taking another swig from his hip flask.

“We can all see it, you know.” Locksley began.

“What’s that? My lack of participation in manual labour?” He wasn’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that his current state of health had kept him from toiling out in the fields with the others.

Locksley set him with an irritated look.

Killian went to shrug - grimacing at the flash of pain not quite dulled by the alcohol.

“No. Don’t be stupid. I’m talking about your attachment to that woman.”

Killian blinked slowly, his face carefully neutral despite feeling a slight edge of panic at his words. He said nothing.

“I had a chat with her earlier. You do realise she’s planning to leave any day now. Something about tracking down ‘some person of interest’.”

He hadn’t known - had barely spoken a word to her the last few days - though he wasn’t really surprised. His attempt at bringing down her protective walls had had the opposite effect, apparently.

“I was aware, yes,” he said instead.

“And I’m here to tell you that if you just let her go then you’re a bigger fool than I was led to believe. She’s not Milah.”

Killian felt his whole body tense, his teeth clenching hard, anger surging.

“No,” Robin snapped, clearly seeing the warning signs of the conversation about to be shut down, “I was there. I know it. All of it, but that was years ago and you deserve to move on. I remember you being a man who fought for what he wanted. Talk to the bloody woman or I’ll do it for you.”

The man spun on his heel and was gone, leaving Killian to seethe and panic in equal measure. After all, was Swan not similar to Milah? She wasn’t wanted by a crazy, blood-thirsty husband but she’d gone and angered a different sort of authority, ones who were equally as ruthless.

He drained his flask and set about looking for any remaining bottles, sending empty ones skittering noisily across the floor, cursing when he came up empty. He was still half-heartedly searching when he heard footsteps approaching. Sereia’s happy chirp of greeting told him exactly who it was.

“Looking for this?” She was leaning against the door jamb holding out a bottle.

“Reading minds now, Swan?”

“No. Robin said you were in a foul mood and you were probably running low.”

Killian hovered, realising a second later that she was, too. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, her face hesitant. They’d not really had a chance to chat since that time in the woods when they’d been interrupted at the most inopportune moment.

“Well, indeed I am. Don’t dither, come join me. Pull up a bale.” He gave a humourless smile and sat, jarring his arm and grimacing at the low pulse of pain that nothing seemed able to touch. It was tiring now, interrupting his sleep, badgering him during the day. The rum helped, or maybe that helped with something else...

“Locksley tells me you’re going to be on your way soon. You didn’t think to tell me that yourself?”

She looked suitably penitent.

“It’s alright, Swan,” he waved off any excuses that she might have made, “that was always the plan. We just got a few extra days.”

“I have things to take care of and you all seem to have everything under control here. I’m not exactly needed...” she trailed, giving him the opportunity to speak - to talk her out of it, perhaps.

“There’s still a place for you here, if you wanted it,” he mumbled.

“I’ve come too far. Risked everything. If I just turned away now, it’d all be for waste. I have to stay the path.”

“So tell me, what _was_ worth putting your life on the line for, hm?”

She sighed deeply and closed the gap between them, so quickly he rocked back on his heels. The floral scent of her soap brought with it the memories of her in his bed. But then she was fumbling inside her coat and retrieving a small bundle of papers that she set down on the bale of straw.

“This is who I’m after.”

She shifted nervously. Clearly getting used to the whole ‘trusting’ thing.

He blinked, tried to clear his fuzzy head, and read the first page. He paused and then reread it. It was some sort of record, an official looking document. A woman who had lived in the north of Brytain. A noblewoman, most like, to have had documents such as these. Some sort of...land deed?

“Some noble named Eva Blanchard? That’s who you’re tracking down?”

“She’s not just _some woman_ , Killian. I think she’s somehow connected to my birth family.”

“What? I thought you were an orphan.”

“So did I and then I got curious. Wanted to know who my parents were. You know what the registrar said to me when I started enquiring after my parents? They didn’t exist. Or lost, more like. After that, something just nagged at me. I couldn’t forget it. I spent a lot of time researching, traipsing through old records and then, at last, a name. And do you know what they said when I asked them for copies of documentation? They were restricted. That only made me more determined...so I got some inside help and stole them.”

“From where? The central bloody archive?”

Silence.

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, “ _bloody hell_ , Swan.”

She gave a shrug and he realised that she’d not truly considered the implications until after it was too late - probably not until she was bartering for passage on his ship. Hell, maybe not even until now.

“They’ll know where you’ll be looking. They could be waiting for you. Is this really worth risking your life for?”

“I covered my tracks,” she muttered, half-offended.

He set her with a meaningful look, that faded at the sadness colouring her eyes.

“She could be alive,” her voice was tremulous and he swayed a little, hand twitching, aching to comfort her but afraid that his inebriation could be luring him down the wrong path; send her running.

“Killian,” Sereia snapped suddenly, her golden eyes scolding at his inaction.

He startled.

“I should have just been content with what I had,” Emma acknowledged, not for the first time.

He said nothing, stepping closer and pulling her body into his, feeling the tremor in her spine at the contact. She tucked her head in against his shoulder and he huffed out a frustrated breath into her hair. Quite suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

“Well, since I’m no use here, I might as well come with you, then.”

She pulled back, surprise in her wide eyes, her fingers curling tight in his shirt.

“I don’t have anything to--”

“--Forget it, Swan. It’s your lucky day. I’ll do this job for free.”

And this is where, in his imagination, she would have kissed him, cautiously at first and then fiery and then she’d be pressing him down against the hay.

But instead, she gave him a long, hard look, smiled prettily and patted him lightly on the chest, “best sober up, then, Captain.”

And the damned siren left him alone.

\---

They left the following day, travelling first by anbaric car and then, eventually, by foot to their destination. 

Killian, who had spent much of the car journey dozing and subdued, seemed comfortable enough with the silence between them. Emma, happy to let him rest, busied herself with the view out of the window, though she couldn’t help but steal glances at the pirate captain from time to time. He looked so different from what she had become accustomed to.

He looked...almost regular.

He’d trimmed his beard to a neat stubble and washed away the last traces of kohl from his eyes. The swelling on his face had lessened considerably, though the bruises still bloomed brightly along his cheek. The white of his eye still bloodied. 

Smee had even convinced him to turn in his long leather coat with its high collar and embellished trim for a plain, dark blue jacket. The garment would have once been smart and crisp but years of wear and washing had softened the fabric and faded the colour. It had been fashioned for a broader man and drooped a little in the shoulders, but the colour suited him well enough. It smelt as if it had been a wardrobe a long time, the musty smell detracting from the usual, heady scent of his soap. Locksley had laughed as he’d handed it over, grinning all the while through Killian’s complaints.

“Just air it out,” he’d said.

“I look like a bloody idiot,” Killian had grumbled when she’d helped him shrug into the offending garment.

She’d smothered a smile behind her hand and made a show of looking him up and down. The jacket had nothing on his ‘ostentatious’ leather coat but she didn’t think anything could truly lessen his physical appeal.

“Blue’s a good colour on you,” she’d said at last.

“Let me see…” Sereia had added, scrambling up his arm to knead her claws contemplatively into the material.

“Verdict?” Killian had asked, sounding glum and defeated.

“Different,” the cat had replied though her tone suggested she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Emma smiled at the memory and snuck another glance at him as they waited for the innkeeper to hand them their room key.

No, he was still handsome but his image was softened. Younger. His eyes were less stark and his silhouette less defined in the looser clothing. Her eyes shifted down to where his naked hand kept flexing against the countertop. He’d sighed in resignation when she’d told him that, yes, the rings also had to go. He’d not yet seemed to have adjusted to their absence. Wondered, idly, how long it would take before empty fingers would feel ‘normal’. She’d never had any jewellery save the few trinkets she’d stolen and she’d always sold those on, particularly rings that couldn’t be hidden from view. Killian’s were worn like trophies, she was sure and, when his hand shifted again, she practically slammed hers on top to stop it. 

He was making her jittery.

He startled at her unexpected - somewhat harsh - touch and then seemed to realise what he had been doing.

“Sorry, love,” he grumbled just as the overly nosy innkeeper came bustling back into view, casting curious looks between them as he handed over the key to their shared room.

“That looks nasty,” he indicated Killian’s bruised face.

“Had a run-in with a wall,” was the only answer he gave.

The innkeeper hummed, eyes still on Killian’s face, “how long were you planning to stay?”

“A couple of nights,” Emma replied, “maybe longer. Depends on family.”

“Family?”

“That’s right.”

The man lifted a key from one of the hooks behind the desk and set it down in front of them. “Top floor. Payment upfront.”

Emma slapped the folded bills down and bid the man goodnight, trusting her pirate to follow as she ascended the narrow, creaky stairs. Killian did well keeping up at first, but slowed down at the third flight, a hand clamped firmly against his left side. She heard him blow out a relieved breath when they arrived at their room - the loft space - and stretched himself gingerly onto the only bed in the room.

The innkeeper had clearly thought them a couple and she supposed it was her own fault for not specifying. Still, it hardly seemed important now. They’d already slept together, hadn’t they? And besides, he was in no shape to try anything, anyway.

The place was as basic as a paid for room could be but the view they were afforded from the windows was quite something. Looking out over a few low-storey buildings and across the mosaic of countryside that lay beyond. The sun was already rocking low, cradled between the slopes of the distant valleys.

She lingered a moment to bask in the sunset before washing at the basin and moving over to the bed.

Killian looked half asleep already, lying diagonally sprawled across the mattress, Sereia draped on his pillow, belly slung across the top of his head. Emma couldn’t help but grin at the pair of them even as she gave him a light shove with her foot, “hey, move over, will you?”

He groaned, dragging himself over to his side with an elbow, shimmying his hips.

With a sigh, she pulled off her boots and dropped down next to him, too tired to really think about how normal it felt to have him so close. How she almost needed it. She shifted, turned so her back was to him and lifted her arm for Sam to cuddle up against her chest, burying her face in his fur.

Sleep came swiftly despite the nervousness brought on by her impending search.

\---

Emma blinked the sleep from her eyes as her bed companion clambered out from between the sheets, taking a moment to peek at him from between her eyelashes. Watched as he slowly unfastened his shirt from the day before, revealing the corded muscles in his back as he rifled around for fresh clothing. His shoulder was wrapped thickly with bandages and so was the lower part of his shortened limb, bound almost to the elbow.

She watched as he tried to ease the sleeve of a freshly laundered shirt up onto his left arm, hissing with pain as he tried to do so.

Sereia gave a low sound of discomfort.

With a groan, Emma kicked off the blankets that had somehow ended up tangled around her legs and got to her feet, moving towards him.

“Morning, Swan,” he said without turning and she reached for him, setting a hand gingerly on his bandaged shoulder.

“Morning. Need any help?”

He hummed in response and she waited for his flirtatious response, glad not to be dissapointed.

“That’d be appreciated. I do need a good checking over.”

“Sit,” she replied, rolling her eyes and choosing to ignore his suggestive voice and his even more suggestive eyebrows. Setting a hand against his good shoulder, she pushed him down into a sit and rummaged around in her pack for fresh dressings before removing the old ones from his shoulder.

His ribs were still badly bruised though he assured her it looked far worse than it felt now. The wound carefully concealed beneath bandages seemed to be doing well but she didn’t think a trip to the local doctor would go amiss. The stitches would need to be taken out at some point. The scar, she realised, would always be prevalent. The hook had torn deep, gauging rather than slicing.

“I don’t think you’ll need the dressing much longer.” She reapplied the bandages less heavily than before, tying it at the top of his shoulder, her touch lingering, tracing down his bare left arm to where the shortened limb was also wrapped.

“Is there a reason for this one?”

“More comfortable when the brace is on,” he explained with a shrug but his tone sounded a little taut.

“You’re not wearing your brace now.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the mattress, “even still…”

She grasped the end of his shortened arm tightly, rewarded with the hitch of his breath and looked up at him, marvelling at the shock and vulnerability laid bare for her to see.

“Killian,” his name sounded breathy on her lips.

“Swan,” he replied, sounding nothing of the sort.

And after a long moment, she relaxed her grip on his arm and released him. “I’m going to freshen up,” she said, but if he heard her he gave no sign. His head was lowered, staring at the space where his left hand had once been. “If you like, I can apply some makeup to your bruises.”

He grinned at her, his response lost to the rush of water as she readied for the day.

\---

“So,” Killian broke the silence between them as they meandered through the streets of the town - grown busy now that the day had truly begun. “We’re going to your orphanage?”

“That’s right. It’s at the other end of town, with any luck there’ll still be some nuns there from before.”

“And you think they’ll know something?”

“It’s the best I’ve got. Just...follow my lead, okay? A small town like this. There was bound to be a rumour or two. I’m willing to use anything we can get.”

He gave her the slightest bow and held out his arm for her to proceed. She wanted to smile at him or laugh at how obnoxious he could be, but inside she was a mess. She never expected to come back here. Had run with the intent of forgetting this place had ever existed. She hated how she had settled back into the familiarity of the streets as if she’d never been away. 

And what if they were being followed by the law enforcers?

She jolted as Killian touched his fingers to her palm and, with the briefest of looks, allowed him to interlace their fingers.

“It’s not too late to back out, you know,” she replied lowly.

He grinned, “oh it is, Swan.”

She tilted her head at him, confused, and shied away from the teasing warmth in his face. 

He squeezed her hand and matched her step, burdening her with yet another intense emotion to go along with everything else.

She’d have to address it eventually...she supposed. This _thing_ between them. Unless, of course, she took the easy route and slipped away into the safety of solitude.

Nice, safe, _desperately lonely_ solitude.

Sam looked back at her from where he trotted a few steps ahead, Rei next to him, and she hoped he didn’t look as troubled as she felt.

The rest of the journey was made in silence, her feet treading the well-worn paths down streets that had barely changed since her childhood. Keeping a lid on her growing trepidation as she closed the distance with remarkable swiftness.

In fact, she was feeling quite proud of her control until the orphanage came into sight and her senses were assaulted by memories and emotions that left her feeling crippled. She sucked in a noisy breath and tried not to notice every miniscule detail. How the rendering had crumbled, revealing large patches of brickwork exposed to the elements. The paint on the windowsills flaking revealing the burnt-orange tiles beneath. Even the same damned roses, taller, woodier, but not yet in flower. She was glad about that. Could recall the sweet fragrance as if they had been planted to disguise the sadness and broken hearts housed behind the walls. And somewhere, just beyond the house, she could hear the sounds of children playing.

Sam’s movements looked almost wooden.

“Easy there, Swan,” Killian murmured, tucking her gently into his side. “I do only have the one hand.”

She relaxed her vice grip on his fingers and drew in a shuddering breath. To her horror, unshed tears were burning in her eyes and it took everything she had not to flee in the opposite direction. Maybe she even would have if Killian had not stepped forwards and called in through the slightly open door.

Silence.

“Maybe we should come back,” she started.

And then a head popped around from the side of the house. A young nun smiling welcomingly across at them.

“Hello. Do you have an appointment?”

“Appointment?” Emma echoed.

“Are you...prospective parents?”

Killian chortled quietly and Emma flustered, eyes widening.

“Not helping,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

The nun glanced at them, seemingly happy to wait for them to come up with a response.

“Um...no. I was wondering if...I was a resident here...uh…” how many years ago had it been since she’d run away from this place? Sad and angry and disillusioned. It was terrible, in a way, to realise she hadn’t much changed in all that time. A little harder. A little angrier, perhaps. But she was here now so maybe there was hope, too.

The faintest glimmer of it, anyway.

“A long time ago,” she ended lamely.

“Ah, how lovely! Welcome back! I’ll go fetch Mother Superior. Go on through.”

Emma would have bolted then. She knew that for a fact. But Killian’s hand was at the small of her back, urging her in through the open door and into the hallway of the orphanage. The walls had been painted recently. They were yellow now instead of pink, but the pictures on the walls were the same - paintings of countryside and the sea and a flower meadow. Sun faded but still quaint.

“Hey, love, it’ll be okay.” Killian’s warm words and warm breath close to her ear drew her away from getting lost in frightening memories.

He was there and she grabbed at his hand again, holding it like a lifeline. Hating herself for so desperately needing to do so.

And then the Mother Superior appeared at the far end of the hall, coming in from the garden just as she remembered. Same garb. Same twinkling eyes. She had gained a few more wrinkles but, despite that, she was strikingly unchanged. 

And what of her? Had she changed so much that they wouldn’t recognise her until she gave her name? Would they recognise this hard, cold woman from the little girl who had lingered until all hope had died?

Mother Superior’s daemon - a beautiful blue hummingbird - flitted around the woman’s head. Then, a moment later, they both faltered and froze in place, staring at her in utter shock.

Perhaps she hadn’t changed so much from that abandoned girl, after all.

“My little Emma,” the woman breathed, and then she was steaming forwards; hoisting her runaway into her arms as if she had always been expecting this day to come.

Emma stiffened in her grasp, focusing only on keeping the emotions from her face. And, after a moment, the woman released her and took a step back. 

“My dear girl. I always hoped I would see you again,” the woman breathed softly.

Emma just shrugged, not certain what to say to that.

“Come, don’t linger here. Follow me through to the kitchen and we’ll get you some tea.”

Emma sensed Killian’s hesitation behind her and she blindly grasped for him, gripping his hand tight when he slipped it into hers. She dragged him along behind her as she tried to force back her hesitation, to cut off emotional ties in an attempt to see this through.

The woman was filling the old kettle with water and setting it on the stove, which she fumbled with to light. Only then, with the flame lit, did she turn back to look at them. 

“I can’t tell you how happy it’s made me to see you and Samiran again.” The woman’s eyes flicked down to glance into the scowling face of Emma’s daemon. He looked defensive and stern, his lip slightly curled.

“We searched for you for a long, long time and I was so fearful something terrible might have happened to you. I suppose I should have known you’d be okay. You were always a resourceful child. Stubborn. Self-sufficient. All great qualities for making it in the world.”

Emma chewed at her lip. What would the woman have said if she’d told her the truth? That she’d become a beggar and a thief and then, to top it all off, a wanted criminal, her face on a poster and everything.

“And you?” Mother Superior was looking at Killian now, too polite to ask about the state of his face, her own crinkling with happiness, “are the husband…?” she ventured.

Emma snorted, “hardly.”

Killian made a show of a long-suffering sigh, “she’s not won over easily, this lass.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him but he only grinned back at her with such earnestness that it made her heart hurt. And afraid.

She turned back to look at Mother Superior who was giving her a thoughtful, sad sort of look and wanted to shy away from that, too. Why was everyone so determined to send her over the edge today? 

“I’m not here just for old time’s sake. I’m here about my birth mother,” she almost snapped, straight to the point. She had no desire for any more small talk or gentle prying into her emotional state.

Mother Superior blinked, surprised. “I wondered if you would ever ask about her. You never did before.”

“The woman abandoned me. Why should I have cared about her?”

“So what’s changed since then?”

“I grew up. Grew bitter. Besides, I found out some information and now I need answers. I need to make sense of it. Nothing ever makes any sense.”

The woman’s brows quirked up quizzically.

“Do you know anything about the Blanchards?” Emma continued, watching the woman’s face for any notable changes. Fear. Realisation. Shame. But there was nothing but a mild curiosity mixed with a hint of surprise. Perhaps she really hadn’t had any inkling who her mother was.

“As much as any of the locals, I suppose. They used to own the Estate a few miles from here. Generally kept to themselves. An odd scandal here and there to give people something to talk about. From what I understand, they didn’t like to mingle with the commoners.

“There was some sort of incident with the daughter. A death, I think, and that left the Blanchards with no heirs. So, when the lady of the house passed, the estate was eventually bought by someone from the city. No one has much to do with it these days. They brought in their own staff, as far as I know. Put a lot of locals out of work.”

“You really don’t know anything else?” Emma felt her temper flare at wasted time. She’d thought that maybe the nuns had been keeping secrets in some vague attempt at being ‘kind’. “No idea at all who could have left me here?”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I wish I could tell you more.”

“What was her name? The lady of the house?”

“Eva,” the elder woman replied.

“Anyone else I could try?”

“You think your mother was a member of the household?”

“There is a connection, I’m just not sure what,” Emma confirmed.

“How did you come across this information?”

“That’s my own business, but mostly coincidence, I think.” It wasn’t, but the woman didn’t need to know that.

“There are some records kept at the local archive in town,” Mother Superior continued, “perhaps they might have a log of all who were employed by the family. I imagine most of them would still live locally. Someone might know something. But Emma, if--”

The kettle started to whistle softly on the stove.

“--That’s all I needed to know. Thanks,”

“Emma it’s been years…”

“This wasn’t a social call.”

The Mother Superior looked as if she wanted to argue, her face drawn, lips pursed. Then sadly, she said; “I hope you find your family.”

“And find out they lived in the same town as I did and made no attempt to get me back? I’m not sure they’ll want me to find them if that’s the case.” She stood and left, fighting every desire in her to just run, run, _run_.

Distantly she heard Killian thanking the woman for her time and then his hurried footsteps as he made to catch up. She slowed down once they were outside and she dropped back into step beside him, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It was okay. She was out. 

“I’m rather partial to tea, you know.”

Emma threw a look at Killian who was giving her the most ridiculous mock-hurt expression that she couldn’t help it. She burst into laughter that verged on hysteria and, in that careful way he did, he wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her in against his side, holding tight. A grounding force. How had she ever been without it?

They spent a few coins on a meagre lunch before Emma dragged him to the local doctor, forcing him to get the wound checked out. With advice on stitch removal and exercises to help the healing process, she dithered in town until, eventually, he stopped her.

“Are you purposely delaying us, Swan?”

There was no point lying. He’d know. He already knew. Instead she just sighed and kicked at the cobblestone path.

“Fine...let’s go.”

\---

Emma pushed the door to the local archive open and stepped inside. It was a cozy, dark place full of old wood panels and fabric that gave it that deep sense of history. Books lined every available space on shelves that reached from floor to ceiling. It was pleasing, though, to see them all in their rightful place. There were no piles of books without homes, no rolls of parchment left out to gather dust. The archive was obviously tended to by an archivist who took great pride in their work.

The desk by the door was a large, panelled thing, layered with dark lacquer. It housed a perch, two trays for post, a little golden plaque that read ‘B. Gold’ and a brass bell.

Emma rang for assistance.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment!” A voice chirped out from the room behind the desk. There were some sounds of boxes being moved and then a woman stepped out to greet them, brushing the dust from her hands and lifting her long, brown hair back over her shoulders.

“Sorry about that. An unexpected delivery. Now, how can I help you?” Her daemon, a handsome barn owl, gave a short screech and flew to a perch attached to the woman’s desk. He blinked at them both for a moment and then settled himself more comfortably, looking drowsy.

“We’re after some records. If you have what we need is it possible to take them out on loan?”

“Most of the archive is not available for loan, I’m afraid, but tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll see what I can do for you. You’re welcome to make copies or use one of the reading rooms.”

“We’re after historical logs of the Blanchard residence.”

“How historical are we talking here?”

“Around thirty years ago?”

“Ok, that makes things a little easier. Any records in particular?”

“Employee details, mostly.”

“And birth and death records for the estate,” Killian added.

The woman smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on them as if trying to figure them out, “follow me.”

Her daemon took flight on silent wings, leading the way through the bookcases with a precision so beautiful it almost seemed impossible. He alighted again on another perch and gave a piercing screech.

The woman drew out one book after another until, at last, six large tomes lay piled on the small table. “This one contains some general information which might give a little more detail around specific dates. There’s another on the history of the Blanchard family. This book of employees that covers the timeframe you specified. The rest appear to be a mix of documentation which will include the records of deaths and births on the premises as well as other noteworthy events. You can wheel the table across to the reading room and let me know if you want anything else. I’ll be at the front desk. Don’t worry about putting any of these back, I can do that.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the amount of reading material.

The feeling didn’t lessen even as she passed one of the weighty books to Killian and took the seat opposite him.

“Note down anything useful,” she said, throwing him something to write on.

Between them they drew up a list of every individual who had worked at the estate during the period when Emma would have been born. Men and women in case it was a father - and not a mother - who had seen fit to abandon their offspring.

She left Killian looking at birth records and returned to the front desk where the archivist was writing a letter. Her barn owl gave an acknowledging sound and fluffed his feathers.

The woman sat up, furled the parchment she had been writing and set it to one side, “have you found anything of use?”

“Possibly. I hope so, at least. I have a list of names written down, how easy would it be to find out if any of them still live in the area?”

“I could get that information. If you like, leave the list with me and I’ll get the information for you. If everything has been catalogued correctly it shouldn’t take too long and it usually is. My husband is very fastidious. A quality we both share, I suppose.” She gave a sad sort of smile and took the list from Emma’s hand, setting it on the top of her work tray.

“How quickly do you think you could get it done?”

“Come by tomorrow afternoon. I may not have it finished but hopefully I’ll have enough to keep you occupied in the meantime. I’ll be closing up shortly. I’ll keep the books to one side for you?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

She meandered back to Killian who was still bent over a book and paused to watch him, amazed by how different he looked. It was hard to believe him to be the same man who had cornered her in that dark alleyway, all dangerous edges and flashing teeth. Now he was softened, his mussed hair teetering on that edge between attractive and adorable.

He shifted in the chair, winced, and then paused to drink from his flask.

“Don’t let the archivist catch you doing that,” she warned, “the woman seems sweet but she _is_ a bird with talons.”

He tipped the flask in her direction and she stepped forward to take it from him, pocketing it.

She cut off his protest by closing the book and tugging him up by his elbow. “Come on, we’re done for the day.”

He traipsed after her, daemon astride his shoulders, until, at last, she turned to look at him, bringing him up short. He steadied himself on her shoulder and she could not be sure whether it was from necessity of just an excuse to touch her. Buried the fact that she really didn’t mind either way.

“Do you mind if I meet you back at the inn? I just need to clear my head for a bit.”

She noticed how Sereia’s ears flattened and how a fleeting moment of panic coloured his eyes.

“It’s alright. I just...It’s been a lot to deal with and…”

“I get it, Swan. Just don’t…” he shook his head, leaving the incomplete sentence hanging between them. She tried to fill in the blanks. _Don’t be a coward. Don’t run from this. Don’t do anything foolish._

Or, perhaps, _don’t leave me._

Like he knew she would. If not now, then eventually. In that, at least, she could be depended. He was lucky she hadn’t already done so.

“I’ll see you soon,” she responded, not looking back as she hastened down the street.

In truth, she thought she would feel better without him at her heels but, strangely, it felt odd without him at her side. It felt like he’d been there the moment she’d met him in that alley. First as a threat, then as a temporary ally, then as an unlikely companion turned one-time-lover. Adapting and shifting until they’d arrived at _this_. Whatever ‘this’ was. They’d not had a moment of physical intimacy since the ship and yet everything they did together felt intimate now. 

He was here with her and he had no reason to be other than to pass time. Part of her wondered whether, given the chance, he would have stayed with her if circumstances had been different. If he had not been a pirate and she not a wayward, damaged girl unable to commit to anything.

She sat with Sam on the kerb, watching people pass them by, his comforting presence pressed against her leg.

“He cares for you,” the jaguarundi replied to her silent thoughts. He sounded impatient. “You care for him, too.”

She sighed brokenly.

“Would life aboard a ship be so bad?”

She gave a bark of laughter, “so long as the weather was fine. I don't fancy making stormy seas a fixture in my life.”

“Even if it means _he_ becomes a fixture?”

“Sam, you know why we can’t.”

“Because of Neal?”

She flinched and drew her hand from his fur, tucking it tight into her lap. “You know why. People, generally speaking, are let downs - me included. We have each other. It’s enough.”

“I don’t think it was ever enough,” Sam replied, throwing her secret thoughts straight back at her.

She cursed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Be brave?” Sam suggested, “like you were before. On the ship.”

He was right, of course. She’d been bold, then, and even if it had led to this...this emotional disaster, it was hard to regret the choice. Even the slightest thought of it warmed her blood. Would warm her for years to come, she knew.

Without a word, she rose up onto her feet and trudged on.

\---

The unguarded relief on his face when she stepped through the door almost made her want to weep. Is that really what she had done? Left him feeling concerned that she’d left him? Was she really turning into the type of person who she despised? Or maybe she’d always been like that, not caring because she’d never been attached to anyone before.

Sereia crossed the short space between them and pounced on Sam, their affectionate tussel bringing a surge of emotion that Emma wasn’t ready to deal with.

She looked up to find that Killian had moved closer and lowered her eyes, “sorry...if I worried you.”

He shrugged, “like you said, Swan, it’s been a hard day. Hopefully not a fruitless one, however. Here, I saved you some food.”

She did not need to be asked twice and devoured the meal with a savegeness that chased the worry from his eyes and replaced it with something warmer. Fonder.

“So let's hear it, then,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“The rest of the story,” he kept his tone light despite the weight of the question he was asking. “There’s more to it than you said, right? So...what was it really? What started you on this search for your ancestry?”

She swallowed her last bite and glanced across at their daemons lying at the foot of the bed, shoving each other with their paws. Like kittens, she thought. They settled then, sobering, perhaps because of what was about to unfold between them.

Breaking walls.

No, nothing as dramatic as that. Peeling layers, turning pages...softly, softly, so she barely noticed. So she didn’t run.

“Swan?”

“There is more,” she admitted, feeling lost. “When I was imprisoned for Neal’s crimes, I was...there was a baby.” Sam leapt into her lap and she grabbed at him, “I didn’t keep him. How could I? I knew nothing about being a mother and my circumstances were less than ideal. I was in prison, no home, no family, no money. So I gave him up for adoption, to give him a chance at being loved in the way I never was. They had someone lined up for him, ready to take him the moment he left my sight. I never second-guessed myself. Not once. And then, one day, I just had this...this thought and it wouldn’t leave me. What if my son sought me out? What if he asked me why I’d given him up? I had good reasons, right?”

Killian said nothing, just watched her carefully.

“So, I thought...what if my mother had done the same thing? I’d spent all these years hating her but maybe...maybe she thought she was doing the right thing by me. Giving me a chance.”

“That is a possibility,” he said and she noted how careful his tone was. Coaxing.

“I mean...if that was the case then maybe...ah it’s stupid. It sounds stupid to say it out loud.”

“That maybe things would be different. To know that you were given up for the right reasons. That _you_ could be different if you knew you had been loved.”

She stared at him as he filled in those blanks, eyes wide, only mildly horrified by the tear tracking its way down her cheek. He caught it on his thumb, brushed it away, his hand lingering.

“And when I hit so many barriers and false information...I just...I wondered whether there could have been some bigger reason behind me being abandoned.” She leaned into his touch, “but what if there wasn’t? What if I just confirm what I thought I’d always known?”

“I think it’s worth the risk, don’t you?” He replied.

She nodded, sagging in her seat, her mental exhaustion all encompassing. She allowed him to draw her across the bed and settle her against the sheets without a single refusal.

“Enough for now,” he murmured into her hair, “rest up and we’ll start again in the morning.”


	6. Chapter 6

“So how long have the two of you been together?” the archivist asked sweetly as she finished her paperwork.

“Uh, I don’t recall,” Emma sputtered.

“That long, huh?” The woman replied, pausing to look at them with a wide smile on her face, “I had you at a couple of years at the most.”

“Hear that, Swan?” 

She could hear the unabashed grin in Killian’s voice.

“What gave it away? My world weary look?” Emma asked, a slight huskiness to her tone.

“Nooo, quite the opposite actually. That sort of look would have suggested a lot longer. There’s still the look of new love about the both of you. It’s nice. I remember that feeling all too well.” She set her papers aside and Emma was glad that the woman was too busy to look up and see the look on her face. Something akin to horror, she was certain.

Besides, a year _was_ a long time for Emma. 

Thankfully the archivist changed the topic, sparing Emma from that nightmare of a discussion.

“There, all done. Let me show you my progress.” The archivist opened a drawer and took out the list, tapping at it with the end of her pen. “I’ve managed to find all those who are still residents for you. It’s not surprising, really, that most of them still live here. It’s why I love this town. It’s a real community. I couldn’t ever imagine going back to the city now.”

Emma wasn’t sure she could imagine anything worse. Everyone knowing you. Knowing your business. But, she supposed, for her purposes, it was a good thing. Could be advantageous, even.

“I guess we’ll just work down the list,” she replied, skimming through it.

“There are a few who live in the same area. You could do it geographically to save on the walking.”

“I don’t know a lot of these streets.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I know them all and I have some time to spare right now, if you like. Oh, I’m Belle, by the way.”

Emma took the woman - Belle’s - offered hand, “I’m Swan and this is Killian.”

“Charmed,” he added, tipping his head.

“Thanks for the help,” Emma continued.

“Right, let me get you a map and I’ll mark them off for you.”

\---

They stepped back out into the open air thirty minutes later where Emma hesitated before flicking her eyes across to Killian.

“Uh, do you mind if...I do this alone?”

He’d clearly been expecting this from the knowing look he was giving her. Didn’t even bother arguing though she imagined he rather wanted to. Instead, he nodded and swept out an arm, allowing her to take the lead and part from him.

“I’ll go peruse, keep an ear out for any signs of trouble. You make sure you stay out of it, too. I’m not sure I’m quite ready for another daring rescue.”

Emma scoffed, “oh, please. I’ve been keeping myself out of trouble for years.”

“Have you, though?” he teased, “I’ve yet to see the proof.”

She mouthed a curse at him then turned on her heel, feeling the slight skip in her step at the look in his eye. Still, the moment she rounded the corner, she felt her step falter as the realisation dawned on her that she was embarking on this scary and potentially life changing journey. But, regardless of the weight of the task, this was something she had to do alone. Needed to rely on her own words and strength to meet whatever lay ahead. Wasn’t sure how she would react to whatever she would discover and didn’t want Killian to witness a potential breakdown.

The first place she visited was quiet, no one answering her knocks despite the window being left open.

The second and third were happy to reminisce about working in the estate. One of them a cook, the other a scullery maid. They had some gossip, invited her in for tea, but neither knew anything relevant. 

The next house on the list turned out to be a sweet little cottage with the most well-maintained front garden Emma had ever seen. An older woman was knelt down, pulling the last remaining weeds from a flourishing vegetable patch.

She looked up as Emma swung the gate open.

“Sorry to disturb you. Are you Mrs Cooper?”

“I am.” The woman stood, wiping her hands on her apron, “what can I do you for, dear?”

“This is going to be completely out of the blue, but...I have a couple of questions about the time you used to work at the Blanchard estate.”

“Oh, indeed? That was some time ago now.”

“I’m trying to track down some family who had ties to the estate. I think they would have worked there between twenty-five and twenty-nine years ago. Did you know any staff who might have had a child around that time?”

“I was there at that time,” the woman replied, smiling fondly, “there were a few babies born whilst I was there,” the woman admitted, “though I can’t remember exactly when. Lovely Jenny had her beautiful baby boy. Brought him to work with her sometimes. Remember him playing in the gardens whilst she tended to the roses.”

“Anyone who had a baby they didn’t bring back?”

“Not that was advertised amongst us. Well, unless you count Ingrid’s temporary leave to care for her sister’s babe. Terrible time for the family, that. Would you like to come in for some tea?”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…” what was it with people inviting a stranger into their house for hot beverages?!

“Nonsense, my dear. I do so love a chat.” The woman started for the house, her small, scruffy dog-daemon leaping up to lead the way.

“So, who is this family you’re after?” she asked once they were settled at the table by the window.

“A cousin. I only just found out about her last year. I’ve tried to track her family to her mother - my aunt - who I think used to work at the estate. That’s only if I have the name right, though. It’s been a bit of a nightmare trying to thread everything together.”

“Hm, could have been Ingrid Fisher. Her situation was a little complicated and she was gone for...maybe a year or so. She had a couple of sisters, as I recall, though one of them sadly died unexpectedly. They lived across the sea in Sveden so they didn’t see each other much. Anyway, the poor girl that died had a baby and Ingrid had to take care of the poor wee thing until it’s father returned. Didn’t much speak about it when she got back and no one ever asked. All very sad, though, from what I gather.”

Emma had to fight the urge not to pull out her list and look for the name, politely finishing her tea and engaging in idle chatter until she took her leave, daring to ask for directions to the woman’s house. The break had been welcome but now clouds were gathering outside and she hoped she’d not given too much away.

She opened her list just as the first rain spattered against the page, blotting ink. But there, half way down the list was a name.

_I Fisher_

Her heart hammered in her chest.

“That’s the one,” Sam interrupted, “it must be.”

“We should have time before it gets dark.”

As it turned out, the destination was further than the map made it look and twilight was settling heavy against her head as she turned, at last, into the correct street. The houses there were small and narrow; crammed together in neat little rows, the sills all painted to match. They glistened under the touch of the rainshower she had sheltered from just half an hour prior. 

She kept her feet moving down the row of houses until, at last, she reached the address that had been scrawled on her paper.

The window was lit and from this angle she could see the back of a woman, long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was clearly talking with someone, breaking into heartfelt laughter that shook her shoulders. She disappeared from sight a moment later and Emma crossed the street to watch from a distance.

“Are you not going to knock?” Sam enquired softly.

“Yes. I’m just...trying to think about what I’m going to say. I’m not sure she’ll react kindly if I just turn up and announce that I’m her long lost daughter.”

“She might.”

Emma had been mulling it over for ten minutes when the door opened and a young girl appeared, auburn hair twisted into braids.

“See you later,” she was saying. Chirpy and bright.

And then the blonde woman was in the doorway, her face softening as she pulled the girl into her arms for a warm embrace. “I hope you miss the rain. And stay out of trouble, you hear? Both of you.” Her eyes cast downwards to the snowshoe hare huddled at the girl’s feet. 

“We will!” The girl replied in a sing-song voice and then she was off down the street, laughing, her playful daemon leaping ahead of her.

So the woman had another daughter, then. To replace the one she’d abandoned, perhaps?

The woman, Ingrid, closed the door again and Emma drew in a deep breath, gearing herself up for whatever was going to happen next. The girl’s footsteps had long since rung to silence when she finally approached the door, rubbing her hands together as she stood there preparing to knock.

Sam bumped up against her legs, steadfast, and she braced herself, lifting her hand to rap her knuckles against the door before she could talk herself out of it.

“What, back already? Did you for--” The woman paused mid-sentence, her mouth shaping into a silent ‘o’ before settling into a more cautious smile.

Emma could barely breathe.

“You’re not Anna,” the woman continued when greeted only with Emma’s deafening silence. “She didn’t mention she was expecting anyone this evening. She’s gone to a social gathering with some friends. Did you need the address?”

“Oh, no, I’m not here for...for Anna.” 

The woman shook her head slightly, a question in her eyes.

“I’m here about some other business. With you, actually.”

“I won’t be buying anything, I’m afraid.”

“No. That’s not--I mean--” she set her teeth and tried again, “are you Ingrid Fisher?”

The woman looked immediately wary, “who’s asking?”

“I’m after some information about...about a baby put up at the orphanage some years ago. I’ve managed to trace possible clues to her ancestry to the Blanchard estate and, am I right to assume you used to work there?”

Something akin to fear flared in the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, dear. I really can’t be of any help. Have a pleasant evening.”

“Please, I only need a moment of--”

“--I can’t help you.”

She shut the door.

Emma felt a surge of desperation, shifting from foot to foot as she decided on her next course of action. She knocked again, more gently this time and leaned in close, her mouth close to the seam of the door. “Listen, let me start again. Sorry. I’m not explaining myself very well. I’m here on my own. I’m not angry. I just want the truth about my family, that’s all.”

There were long seconds that followed but, after a good while, the door clicked open again.

“Your family?” the woman replied. She looked like she had aged in the time it had taken for her to return to the door..

“That’s right.”

“Emma?”

Emma nodded and the woman’s eyes flicked downwards to where Sam stood at her heels, his gruff looking face looking particularly intent.

The woman, Ingrid, opened the door and stepped aside, looking visibly shaken, though it was hard to tell whether the overwhelming emotions were positive ones or not.

“You’d best come in out of the cold.”

And that was how, a few minutes later, Emma found herself taking up room in the woman’s kitchen, lingering by the window as if finding comfort in a possible emergency escape route. Her hands were clenched so tight that she could feel her nails digging into her palms.

“Emma?” Ingrid said again, a shaky, tentative whisper as if she were somehow imagining this. Her daemon was an arctic fox and though it couldn’t truly be compared to that of a common red fox, it set her on edge nonetheless. 

She nodded, “were you expecting trouble?”

The woman looked wry at that, “for years, though I seem to have avoided it so far.”

“Who _are_ you to me?”

Ingrid looked regretful, “not your mother, I’m afraid, though I had often wished I were.”

Emma had steeled herself for the reply but the disappointment eked through anyway. Perhaps it was that the woman, oddly, looked a lot like her. Blonde hair, similar shaped face, tall and slender. Still, she had known it was too good to be true. Things like this could never be so easy.

“So if you’re not my mother, who are you?”

“I was...her friend...once.”

Once? What did that mean? They’d had a falling out? Had she done something terrible? Something like stealing her friend’s baby, perhaps? 

Sam bumped against her, warning her of her assumptions and she physically shook herself in an attempt to rid herself of them.

“I wanted so desperately to keep you, Emma. I thought about going to look for you so many times but...I was too afraid that might draw attention and by the time Eva Blanchard died I didn’t even know where to start.”

Emma couldn’t disagree with that. She had no fixed abode, went by an array of different names and generally tried to stay off the radar. It would have been impossible for someone without connections or the ability to take big risks.

“You need to tell me everything. From the very beginning.”

The woman drew in a deep breath, steeling herself, and sat at the table, pressing her hands tight together. She looked in a terrible state of shock.

“Your mother… she was Eva’s only daughter. Her name was Mary Margaret and though I was an employee, I loved her very dearly.”

The tale, it turned out, was perhaps more simple than anything she might have ever drawn up in her mind. Her mother, a noblewoman and sole heir to the family estate, had rebelled against her mother’s wishes and fallen in love with a commoner. They’d met in secret, and - if rumour was to be believed - married in secret, too. Mary Margaret’s mother - Emma’s grandmother - was incensed. Threatened to strip her of her fortune and bestow it upon some distant relative. And then when Mary Margaret had fallen pregnant, Eva Blanchard near lost her mind with fury and shame. She had demanded that Mary Margaret stay and have the baby at the estate, locked her away to keep the pregnancy a secret. Nothing could persuade the woman otherwise and, when the baby was born, it had been spirited away before anything could befall it.

“Eva was the type of woman who made her own law. Mary Margaret knew that well. Knew that Eva had even made attempts on her lover’s life. She feared for your safety, Emma. Made me promise that when the time came, I’d take you away from the house before Eva could get her hands on you. Before she could do something terrible.”

“So she had you take me to an orphanage?” Emma hated how dismayed she sounded. “Why not to a friend or...or somewhere she could eventually find me?”

Ingrid looked suddenly drained and guilty. “She left you with me. I was supposed to keep you safe...but it was me who left you at that orphanage, Emma, with nothing but your blanket and your little memory box.”

Emma looked away, felt the stickiness of blood beneath her fingernails.

“I didn’t want to give you up, Emma. You have to believe me. I loved you as if you were my own. I...I could never have children and you were my precious chance at knowing how it felt to be a mother. But my absence from the estate was noted and I had no one else to watch you. No husband. No family. Eva was suspicious. She sent her guard around to check on me and the only reason you were not discovered is because you were sound asleep in your crib. Otherwise…”

“I see…”

“Your mother looked at me as if I’d taken her heart and torn it in two. She was civil with me, after that, and I endured the looks she gave me, but then she was gone. Left without warning one night.”

“And my father?”

“I never met him. All I know was that he was not deemed an appropriate match by any means. A servant boy, perhaps. A commoner.”

“So you don’t know where she is? His name? Anything?”

“You’re mother didn’t talk about him.”

“And everyone just believed me to be dead?”

“It happens.” The woman replied, sadly, the look in her eye haunting and...heart-wrenchingly awful. Emma didn’t have to question her to know she’d suffered that particular loss.

“I’ve come to the end of the road, then.”

“No, my dear. You’ve reached a turning point. You found me, didn’t you? Your mother loved you and, if I know her, she’s spent a long time looking for you. Your searching has brought you this far. You can continue. Find your family.”

“It’s been twenty-eight years,” Emma replied, “I got what I needed from you.”

The woman looked at her, confused.

“I know why I was abandoned. That’s all I wanted.”

_I know I was wanted._

“Emma, I urge you to--”

“--Thank you for speaking with me,” Emma pushed off of the wall and made for the door, poignantly aware that the woman had not moved from the table, that her daemon was staring at her as she left.

Samiran charged ahead, rushing out of the door the moment she opened it and together, they broke into a run.

Run. Run. _Run._

She’d been running for a full ten minutes before she slowed to a sluggish walk, lungs burning. Eyes prickling. Heart slamming against the bars of her ribcage. And then the sky opened and the downpour ran torrents against her unprotected head. She came to a halt, focusing on the feeling of the rain strewing through her hair and down into the opening of her jacket. Felt as if the world were weeping where she could not. Felt the sharp cold against hot skin, breath turning slow tendrils in the air.

Samiran stood, bedraggled, at her heel, looking up at her with his serious, sad eyes.

\---

Killian had grabbed his coat and was just heading out to look for Emma when she returned, half-drowned and churning with emotion. Hair, usually bright and full of life was darkened from rain and plastered against her face, stripping the years from her, leaving her looking young and vulnerable. She stared at him as if trying to convey to him - through a look alone - what words could not.

And, instead of doing what he wanted to do - to hold her and kiss her and whisper words of comfort - he lapsed into a trained calm, drew her into the room and began to divest her of her coat, her shoes, her scratchy woolen jumper, pausing there to rub some feeling back into her numb fingers.

“Can you manage the rest, Swan?” he asked, turning to look for towels.

She obeyed wordlessly and he turned his back as she undid the buttons of her shirt and shimmied out of her remaining clothes, leaving them in a sodden pile at her feet.

He turned back with towels and dry garments and took a seat by the window, focusing his attention on Rei and Sam at the foot of the bed.

Only when she was dressed in her nightclothes did he dare to move closer, drawing her down onto the bed and tucking her in against him, still startled at how cold she felt. He tugged the blankets out from underneath her legs and pulled them across her, saying nothing.

She curled into him with an ease that made his heart ache, burying her face into his shoulder.

He wanted so badly to get her to speak but wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Whether she might just prefer to wallow in the quiet for a moment.

And then Sereia spoke instead.

“We were so worried, lass,” the black cat said, coming up to sit beside her.

“We got delayed,” Sam replied, following after his daemon as if unwilling to be parted from her.

“We would have come sooner,” Killian started.

“But we were worried you might return and find us absent.” Rei ended, nuzzling into the jaguarundi. “What kept you?”

“We found a lead,” Sam replied, casting a glance towards Emma who lay unmoving. She was already feeling warmer, her shivers petering out, though she clearly had no intention of engaging in any sort of conversation.

Her daemon seemed unsure whether to say more, his head lowering.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Killian said, at last, moving to fetch more blankets.

Sleep, however, did not come easy. 

He lay on his side of the bed, listening to the sound of her shifting uneasily, clearly too wired to settle. Her daemon was shifting, too, and even Rei’s soft growls were not enough to see him relax. And, when she’d shifted yet again, he eventually gave up on giving her space and moved closer, pulling her body in against his. She stiffened in his hold as if on reflex but he hushed her gently, relaxing his grip so that it was nothing more than an arm curled around her.

Her body seemed to sag into the mattress then, and at last, she quietened.

The morning came too soon, after that, and he groaned at the pale light falling in through the uncurtained windows, dragging him to wakefulness. Emma was already awake, though still huddled in his sleepy embrace, her fingertips stroking idle circles across his knuckles.

He mumbled a greeting and nosed at her neck, daring a moment of affection before she could stir to full alertness and pull away.

“Morning, love.”

She turned in his arms, her hands creeping up his chest to rest just below his collarbones. Only when she had settled again did he risk cracking an eye open and peering across at her. Her hair had dried a mass of tangles and he took a moment to work one out with his fingers, smoothing it back away from her face.

“Sorry,” she started in hushed tones.

“For what?”

“I hadn’t meant to be gone so long but...we found a lead and I just couldn’t let it go.”

“The lead was a dead end?”

She pressed her lips together tightly and he stroked her cheek, tucking more hair back behind her ear.

“I got my answers,” she replied. “I thought that was all I needed. Maybe it is. I don’t know.”

“You found your mother?”

“I found out about her,” she clarified.

“But it wasn’t enough?”

He felt her fingers tighten in his loose shirt, felt his heart quicken.

When she spoke again her voice was even smaller. Exposed. “She wanted me.”

He bumped his forehead against hers, let it rest there, let their whispered words fill the pocket of air between their lips. He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

“I’m glad.”

“I thought that’d be it. That I’d be happy knowing. But now?”

His fingers eased back into her hair then slid down the soft skin of her neck, his thumb resting against the line of her jaw. She’d yet to pull away, maybe too distracted. Or perhaps because she wanted the comfort it offered.

“My heart is still unsatisfied.”

“It’s simple, love.”

“Hm?” she tilted her head up, her lips ghosting across his. It sent a thrill straight through him. Her motion could have been an accident but there was no flare of panic in her eyes and she did not move away. He tested her, brushed his mouth softly against hers. Her hands tightened her hold on him, igniting a desire that he immediately had to stamp down.

“You go find her,” his voice came out a little rougher, a little distracted. 

She looked more uncertain at that than he would have thought. Had he not simply put her own thoughts to word? She’d come this far? Why stop now?

“Why the hesitation?”

She blinked at him and he almost purred as she ran her fingers up along the back of his neck and into the hair curling at his nape.

Sereia _did_ purr. Loudly.

Emma smiled at him. It was warm but cautious. Clearly still overthinking even as she levered his head down, pressing her mouth to his with a breathy sort of sound that set his blood afire. When she pulled away her eyes were closed. Serene.

“She really wanted me.”

He kissed her, harder, open-mouthed, not sure how to make her believe that he wanted her, too. Had wanted her from the moment he had set eyes on her. Then she was hauling him against her and he used the momentum to draw her beneath him, kissing and kissing and kissing until she was breathing out his name between each one.

He felt the draw of her thigh against his leg, lifting across his hip; a heel pressed into his lower back.

Somehow he managed a “you sure?”

Her answering ‘yes’ was too sweet a thing. So were her hands that were tugging at the waistband of his trousers.

He blinked, looking down at her and she paused in her ministrations to look up at him. He couldn’t help it. Was horribly worried that her sudden affection had been born from the jumble of emotions she must have been going through.

“Yes,” she reiterated, lunging up to kiss him again, worrying his lip between her teeth.

There was little talking after that, the spontaneity of the thing rendering him near speechless, still half-dressed as she drew him into her.

It was only after, in a blissful haze, that he realised she’d not answered his question.

_Why the hesitation?_

\---

It was just physical attraction. Lust. Desire. Not...not anything deeper than that. He’d been a friend. He’d helped her and it meant something. But not...not that word she dared not even think, let alone speak. She dared not look at Sam either. She could feel his eyes watching as she paced the room. Could feel him confirming her fears.

She was…

She _was…_

The door opened with a loud creak, startling her, and she swallowed hard as Killian entered, throwing her a smile that sent a spear of pain straight into the hollow of her chest. It settled there, pulsing.

“Sorry, Swan, this was all they had.”

And he looked so _damn_ happy. So ridiculously handsome and relaxed and irrevocably _hers_ that she almost wanted to be sick.

It had been a mistake to let her guard down. Again. A mistake to let him back in. Had she not learned from their passionate union on his ship? Why was she doomed to keep finding her way into his arms when she knew that nothing good would come of it?

He’d set her breakfast aside and was peering across at her now, quiet and concerned.

“Swan?”

She shook her head, trying to alay his worries but he moved forwards to kiss her regardless, a small thing. Tender. Sweet. She didn’t return it, though, averting her eyes. Hating herself for falling so easily into the moment as if she was some sort of romantic buffoon.

He shifted awkwardly and she saw the pang of regret in his eyes at her lack of reciprocation.

“Is this to be our last day in this town?” He asked, voice flat.

“Itchy feet?” she asked, forcing a smile.

“I never was good at staying in one place for long.”

She winced at his words and how they so simply clarified all her fears. “Me either,” she replied quietly, “there’s no reason to stay here any longer.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? This was her moment of hesitation. This was why she was unsure about which path to walk down. There was a choice to make. Find her mother or stay with Killian. One path was undeniably the safer option (if it could be called that) and yet her heart _yearned_. Absolutely _yearned_ to keep the connection with a man she barely knew and yet felt as if she’d known forever.

Because every time she tried to deny it or felt the urge to run, she knew it was because she was afraid of being without him. Afraid of the pain of the inevitable. Perhaps even twenty-four hours from now he’d be gone and she’d be alone again.

So she told him what Ingrid had told her in the most simple of terms and that, unfortunately, tracking the woman basically meant starting a new search. It could take weeks - or longer - to find Mary Margaret. 

She’d have to start by returning to the local archive and speaking with Belle. Collect any rumours she might have recorded and start from there. 

Or…

Maybe she wouldn’t do any of that. 

Maybe she’d just go back with Killian to the remnants of his crew and help him regain his ship. Forget all of this family nonsense and just - for once - be content with what she had. Be part of a different sort of family.

“Swan?”

She blinked, focusing on him, suspecting he’d been calling her name for a while.

“Breakfast?”

“Sure,” she sat on the bed and accepted the pastry, relishing in the buttery, almond flavour.

“So, mind telling me what’s bothering you?”

But she couldn’t. How could she? What if he just laughed and said she wasn’t welcome to join him? Surely it was better to leave with the belief that he had wanted her to stay. The offer of joining his crew a sweet thing to reminisce over.

His eyes had turned serious now, even a little concerned, and she was filled with the horrible desire to just cry. Her life had always been a mess. Every little aspect of it. Why should this be any different?

She felt his hand on hers and tried to challenge herself to be brave.

Just _tell him._

“What if I just...let this thing rest and come back with you?” There. It was out, though she didn’t feel any better for airing her thoughts. Her mother had loved her, once, and surely that was enough. That was all she needed to try and get on with her life. And then she realised he wasn’t speaking. Was just staring at her with his ridiculous, blue eyes. She panicked, tried to back-track, stuttered on the words, hating how her face burned.

“I mean...I feel partially responsible for what happened and maybe I could, I don’t know, help with--” She flustered, started again; “no, I’d just get in the way. I don’t--”

“--Swan,” he cut her off and she swallowed thickly. Afraid.

“As much as I love listening to you declare - in a roundabout way - that you find me irresistible, let me put you out of your misery. If you would not be adverse to my presence, it would be my honour to accompany you on the remainder of your quest.”

She blinked, realising that she hadn’t even considered that an option.

“But...why?”

He looked at her beseechingly, “do you really need to ask?”

The air was suddenly laden with meaning.

“Ugh!” Sereia piped up, “you two are being so ridiculous. Just admit your feelings and kiss already!”

“Rei…” Killian’s tone was scolding, “you’re ruining it.”

“No. _You’re_ ruining it,” she replied, sounding as frustrated as they both felt.

“Listen, the _Jolly Roger_ can wait,” Killian continued.

“What about your crew?”

“They’ll be sour,” he shrugged, “but what can they do? We have to wait for Midge and this isn’t a situation that can be rushed. Teach will be on high alert right now. He’ll be playing it safe. Not lingering for more than a day or so. He’ll avoid the bigger ports and the moment he gets word, he’ll be off. Hard to chase down a ship if you don’t have one of your own.”

“What are you saying? That the situation is impossible?”

“Never impossible, love. It just requires planning and patience. We’ll get him but it’s not going to happen overnight.”

“You seem to be taking all of this in your stride,” she sounded a little accusing. “I expected you to be angry. Go racing after him.”

He shrugged, “oh, I was angry. Still am. If I hadn’t been an idiot and got myself cut up, then I’d have chased him down and put an end to it before the night was even over. But…” he trailed, throwing her a flirtatious grin, “then I would have lost you. I’d say _this_ ,” he gestured between them, “ is quite the consolation prize.”

She blinked, uncertain what to say.

“Listen, being captain of a pirate ship is different from captaining a vessel in the navy,” he continued. “In the navy there are rules and birthrights and all sorts of politics which means that - even if a leader is undeserving - you have to follow orders. No questions. No hesitation. It makes for a simple life if you’re willing to tow the line. 

“A pirate’s life is a more tenuous thing. There’s a hierarchy, of sorts, but you have to work to keep a crew happy. You share the spoils, allow them women, ply them with alcohol, listen to their advice and place value in their opinions. It’s a democracy, of sorts. If I neglected the crew in any way or made bad decisions they could simply cut me loose and choose a new leader.”

She blinked again, not quite understanding why he was telling her this, though she had to admit that she’d never considered pirates to be democratic.

“And, in order to keep the crew on side,” Killian continued, seeming to realise she needed specifics, “there are certain expectations that have to be met. A captain has to have a reputation. Has to be feared, respected and desired. They have to be bold and intrepid.” His mouth curled up with amusement, “so, yes, I did not exercise in mercy or cautiousness or celibacy.”

“But it’s a facade,” Emma spoke at last. 

“In part,” he acknowledged. “I enjoyed those things too, for a time. But even when I didn’t, I still had a ship to run. The crew, for the most part, are loyal and true. I gave them no reason to complain and I don’t think it would be too much for me to take a step back to help you, now. Particularly the crew we’re currently stuck with. I won’t just leave them sitting idle whilst we’re looking for your family.”

“I just don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“You won’t, love. Perhaps me not cashing in on your bounty was the last nail in the coffin - so to speak - but those cowards would have made an attempt eventually. I won’t have you taking any responsibility for their treachery.”

“And, maybe, if you’re right, and most of the crew weren’t happy with seeing you go, winning them back will be simple?”

“I won’t even need to win them back, love. Most of them will still be mine - would likely overthrow Teach if they knew I was still alive.”

She nodded, “so what did happen?”

He tilted his head quizzically.

“You said you ‘used to’ enjoy the indulgences of a pirate?”

“Ah, well, it was when I met Milah. She made me want more than just whores and ale. And when she was taken from me, I was lost. Lost in grief and anger. Anger at her. At her husband. At myself for not being able to stop it. And all the anger I had towards my brother came flooding back, at how foolish he’d been to rile the wrong people. Anger and bitterness was all I had, for a long time. Life felt hollow. Meaningless. And then something happened.”

Emma felt her eyes widen in anticipation.

The pirate, who looked suddenly shy and so very young, hesitated, licking his lips before carefully picking his way across his next few sentences.

“I met this woman by pure chance. I didn’t get a good look at her but it didn’t matter. It was dark and she was not in a cell directly next to mine, out of the reach of the lamplight. I was sobering up after a particularly intense evening of drinking, lying on that cold, stone floor, nursing my anger and sorrows. And then she spoke with such spirit, such courage that it was like...like a light going on, shrinking the shadows, curbing my despair.”

“What did she say?”

Killian reached out and took her hand, cradling it gently.

“She said that the world was cold and cruel and lacking much hope. That for normal people it was a world devoid of magic. She said that, even if it was dangerous and frightening, we shouldn’t stand by and let the people in charge commit their terrible crimes. Not allow them to flaunt the very law that they imposed so heavily upon their people. That we shouldn’t just give into their demands when they were the ones who were in the wrong. She said that, sometimes, there were things worth fighting for. Worth dying for.”

Emma didn’t feel the tears on her cheeks until it was too late, “that was me,” she choked out, gripping his hand hard.

“Yes, Swan, it was you.”

“How long have you known?”

“I placed your voice when you were bartering for passage.”

“Since the _beginning?_ Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’ve been trying to,” he said, sounding embarrassed,

Sereia scoffed and Emma had the distinct impression that his daemon had told him to just _tell her already._

“You don’t make it easy, love. I thought you might run for the hills. Think I was some sort of stalker.”

Emma supposed she could understand that. “And that’s why you helped me. Because I helped you...let go of some of that anger?”

“Well, I would have helped you, regardless. Gentleman, remember?”

She rolled her eyes, starting now to put things together.

“You took me to that bay to show me ‘magic’,” she spoke softly, thinking of the bioluminescence that had nestled itself as a very magical moment in her mind. “You quoted me, too.” She thought of his words on the Magisterium. How he wouldn’t stand by and abide by laws that they so easily flaunted.

“When I heard you that night, in that cell, it was like you had chased the shadows from my heart. I’d been so angry at my brother for how he’d approached the Magisterium. Couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t simply just choose to go his own separate way. But he tried to make them answer for their crimes and he was killed for it. I hated him for a long time. How his ‘honour’ was more important than I was. But when I heard you I realised I’d been looking at it wrong. He hadn’t known what his fighting back would result in. He had been making a stand.”

“Killian…”

“And once I let go of that anger the rest began to unravel, too.”

Her heart was pounding, listening to these impossible things coming from his mouth. All true. All heartfelt.

“I looked for you, after, but you had disappeared as if you’d never existed. “

“I’d moved on,” she replied.

“I should have told you sooner. Rei said I should.”

“No,” she replied, “that would have meant opening up to me about your brother. Your lost love. Without those facts it would have seemed a hollow story and I’d have been suspicious.” Her heart stuttered, “you truly weren’t lying when you said you trusted me. That you understood me.”

“Not _everything_ I say is bluster, love.”

She laughed and it felt good, the effort of it working her lungs.

“You _are_ a dangerous man, though.”

He lifted a brow in question.

“I trusted you so easily. I barely even knew you and it was so easy to just be with you. I’ve never found anyone who has done that before.”

His mouth was warm and soft on hers.

\---

“Oh, yes, the infamous Mary Blanchard,” Belle’s eyes twinkled as she seemingly recalled the scandals that had followed that particular name. Her barn owl daemon had been preening on his perch, though at that he righted himself and fluffed up his feathers.

“Anything recorded?” Emma asked.

“I think it was mostly just gossip but, from what I understand, when Mary Margaret left, her mother disowned her. Pretended that she didn’t even exist. They’d obviously had some terrible falling out and I don’t recall a daughter being at the woman’s funeral.”

“And I’m guessing there wouldn’t be any record of where she went?”

“She’s the next piece of your puzzle, I assume?”

“That’s right. I’d have been disappointed if it was going to be easy.”

Belle laughed, “I have a feeling it’ll keep you busy. Honestly, I’m not sure whether I’ll have much information for you. My husband would have been here at that time and he certainly had a way of finding out everyone’s secrets. I’m not certain he’d have documented this sort of event, however.”

“Your husband is out of town?”

“Yes,” the woman sobered at that, “in the city for the unforeseeable future.”

There was obviously a story there. An unhappiness lingering. A bitterness, even.

“I could write to him,” the archivist continued.

“Would that cause trouble for you?”

“Not really. I’m the one who is displeased with him. He’d likely be glad of the contact.”

“What does he do?”

Her face twisted into something of a grimace, “he’s a member of the Cabinet Council.”

Emma felt a flare of panic at that. A powerful man, then. Someone not to be trifled with and certainly someone she didn’t want to draw the attention of. She backtracked hastily.

“Don’t worry about it, Belle. If you’d rather not contact him, let me see what I can find first. I’m pretty good at this sort of thing.”

The woman looked grateful, “well, the offer is always there.”

“It’s fine, honestly. He’s clearly a busy man and I don’t want to put you into an uncomfortable position.”

“Busy is an understatement. He thrives in what he does. The work. The power.”

“Sounds like a right beast,” Emma replied.

“He can be,” she admitted, “but there’s a gentleness to him, too, hidden beneath all of that callousness. It’s why I fell in love with him in the first place.”

Emma wondered what daemon such a man would possess.

“Okay, so what do you need next?” the archivist asked, changing the topic.

“Can I look at the Blanchard books again?”

“Be my guest. They’re still on the cart.”

Emma made herself busy, spending much of the day gleaning any information she could about her mother. Any potential friends. Potential suitors. Anyone who might have more concrete information about where she might have moved to. 

Surely there had to be someone with whom she would not cut ties. A childhood friend, perhaps.

She learned bits and pieces through her research. 

Eva Blanchard had been an older mother who lost her husband unexpectedly. The pair of them must have struggled to conceive, for they had been married for many years before their daughter was born and had no other children. It also appeared that Eva had never remarried. Emma could only make a guess as to why this would be, considering how the elite tended to view women in their society.

Mary Margaret’s daemon had eventually settled as a robin - a brazen, territorial little songbird. And Emma wondered if it was coincidence that Samiran had often shifted into a robin before he had settled in his wild cat form. 

The young Blanchard had also been matched, unsuccessfully, to two suitors - one of whom had pursued her for quite some time. She’d also had extravagant birthday parties, judging from invite lists, and it took Emma the rest of the day to pinpoint which of these might have been childhood friends she might still have contact with.

“I can’t imagine the poor girl would have had many friends,” Belle said when Emma told her what she had been looking for.

“It’s almost impossible to tell from these lists alone.”

“Did she have a suitor?”

“Yes. But no one seems to know who he was.”

“Ah, a forbidden love!” Belle exclaimed.

“Yes, someone her mother didn’t agree on.”

“Well, I very much doubt he would be attending her parties, then. Unless he worked there as a servant, perhaps.”

“Most of the men working in the house at the time were much older.”

“An age gap might not be so unusual, though.”

Emma sighed, not liking the idea of tracking down these older ‘gentlemen’ and questioning them about potential love affairs with a highborn daughter.

“If not a servant, then perhaps a local?” Belle suggested, “let me see if I can fetch some maps of the land around the estate and we’ll have a look through for surnames of those living in the area at the time.”

“I’d rather try that route first.”

Belle nodded and whisked away down one of the aisles. 

Emma stretched her arms up above her head, arching her back deeply. The muscles there were tense and the motion brought her momentary respite from her hunched reading position.

“Well now, isn’t that a sight for sore eyes,” came Sereia’s sanguine voice as she leapt up onto the table and bumped heads with a lounging Sam.

Killian was smiling through some obvious discomfort, his hand rubbing at his shoulder.

“Rough time with the doctor?” Emma asked.

“Aye.”

“He was a wreck.” Rei replied with a low purr, settling into Samiran with a contented rumble that filled Emma with warmth. Samiran rasped his tongue across the top of her dark head.

“I was keeping in character,” he replied easily, “don’t want to let on that I’m a toughened pirate.”

“Aye,” Rei replied teasingly, “they certainly won’t suspect a thing.”

Killian opted to ignore his daemon, leaning instead towards Emma and pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. The casual affection sent a thrill through her and she grabbed at his coat to prolong the connection when she felt him start to move away, turning her head to kiss him fully.

Belle cleared her throat as she returned, smiling shyly between the two of them as she set the map down on the table. She murmured an apology. “Let’s weigh this down and take a look, shall we?”

Emma bumbled for a moment, feeling much like a mildly chided teenager as she set a weight on the map to keep it from furling again. Rei and Sam moved aside, dropping to the floor and disappearing beneath the table.

Killian, seemingly an adorer of maps, leaned in close to inspect the scrawl of fields and footpaths crisscrossing across its surface. He set his forefinger against it and she found that she missed the gleam of rings on his fingers as he traced a path expertly across the parchment.

“What are we looking for?” he asked.

“Settlements or property that bordered the Blanchard estate,” Emma clarified, “on the off chance that Mary Margaret found love with a neighbour.”

“These all fall within the estate?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He looked a moment longer, studying. Emma found herself watching him more than the map, the line forming between his brows as he considered.

“I’ve found records of locals who might be a similar age to our long lost Blanchard. We have the Coopers who had a son born earlier the same year. The Smyths had two sons, one born a year prior to Mary Margaret and one the year following. Their house was located very close to the estate.” Belle listed through 

“What lies here?” Killian asked suddenly.

“The river there is a natural border to the estate. There are farmlands beyond it and woodland beyond that.”

“How close to the border is the farmhouse?”

“Very.”

“And who lived there? Any likely candidate?”

“Potentially…” Belle looked through her lists, “ah, yes, the Nolans. There was a son there a year older than Mary Margaret.

“Good. That’s our next stop.”

Emma blinked at him, curious as to how he sounded so confident but pleased that they had some sort of direction.

Belle smiled, “good luck on your search, Emma. I hope you find her.”

“Thank you.”

She ducked her head to peer under the table where the two cat daemons were lounging, draped lazily across one another, tails twitching. If she’d have seen another couple’s daemons embarking in such behaviour she would have balked at the sappiness. But when it was her own daemon engaging in such tenderness...well, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with that. Her very serious companion looked so at ease. 

“Come on,” she chided, “up you get, you two.”

She looked up at Killian who was looking at her with much the same expression. Her heart squeezed with unabashed joy and, without hesitation, she slipped her hand into his. With a heartfelt thanks and farewell to the archivist, she led him out into the street and back to the inn.

They stayed one more night.

\---

The farmhouse was not difficult to find; the pair of them more than adept at trespassing on estate lands and crossing the - thankfully shallow - river at the fork. Sam was tucked back up in her backpack, Rei astride Killian’s shoulders, until they made it safely across to the grassy bank. She took his offered hand and he heaved her up the incline with a grin.

“We’ll break into one of the outhouses until morning,” Emma replied, smiling back at his flirtatious grin. “Don’t get any ideas.”

He made an attempt at looking insulted, though he gave her a playful squeeze on the behind as she passed him.

She slept easily despite what the following day would bring. Was near certain that this would be just the first stop in potentially hundreds of others.

They woke at the cockerel's enthusiastic crowing, stretching out the kinks in their aching bones. The cold had done nothing for Killian’s healing shoulder and he’d woken in some discomfort. Emma took the time to bind the wound for him, pressing the heel of her palm gently against it in an attempt to ease in some warmth. The pain had put him in a foul mood, however, and though he evaded her questioning gaze she knew what he was afraid of.

That it might never fully recover. That he’d be left with weakness.

“It’s hardly been any time at all,” she reminded him out of the blue, “it’ll take time to rebuild the strength of that torn muscle.”

That seemed to ease his mood a little and, after taking in turns picking the straw from their clothes - in a pitiful attempt at looking presentable - they approached the farmhouse. It was smaller than Emma had expected, a ramshackle little building made of smooth grey stone and disheveled grey tiles. The doorway was overhung by a simple archway supported by two beams that looked as if they had seen better days. Set alongside it was a simple fenced area of grass where a huddle of sheep grazed - the animals looking up lazily at their approach. Behind the house was a low, walled garden that looked well-tended and beyond that, the pasture sloped down into ancient woodland.

Bird song pierced the air with an astounding cacophony - or to Emma, at least, who realised how little time she’d spent out in the countryside. She had always assumed being amongst nature would be quiet. But this? It was a different sort of noise. A noise she thought she could get used to.

The door opened as they drew closer - the sheep shuffling timidly away from them. And then an older woman, perhaps in her late sixties, stepped out holding a large tin dish in her work-weathered hands. She was stooped, her hair grey, her face telling of hardship, though when she looked up Emma saw there were smile lines, too.

“Can I help you folks?” she called, her voice surprisingly strong.

“We’re trying to locate someone,” Emma replied, “we have the smallest inkling that they may have lived here at some point.”

“That’ll be me you’re looking for in that case,” she settled the tin bowl against her hip, “lived here near on forty years.”

Emma couldn’t help but feel disheartened, casting Killian a look. He seemed more intent, gesturing for her to continue her questioning with a simple look alone.

“Any children?”

“A long time ago, yes,” the woman moved then, crossing the short distance to the fenced off area where she filled the animal’s feed trough. The animals soon forgot their wariness in favour of breakfast. The woman’s daemon was a sheepdog, black, tan and white, with a greying muzzle and gentle eyes.

“You don’t see them much?”

“Unfortunately not. Lost one little lad to illness and the other to love.”

Emma felt her heart jolt, only just remembering to politely sympathise with the woman for the sad loss of a child.

“He writes to me, still. He’s a good boy.”

“Doesn’t visit?”

“He does when he is able. Has his own farm to tend to, though. The flock keeps him busy. I take it you were after him and not me?”

“Possibly?” It came out as a question, “if he had a secret liaison with Lady Blanchard’s daughter then, yes. Definitely.”

The woman straightened with a start and the sheep momentarily jolted back from their feed. Her daemon growled, crawling forwards a little on his belly as if he were trying to herd them back the way they had come.

Instead of trying to put an end to the conversation, however, the woman approached instead, waving a hand to quieten the sheep dog as she did so. She came to a stop a couple of paces from Emma and scrutinised her, drawing herself up to her full height and setting her hands on her hips.

Emma said nothing, happy to watch the cogs turning behind the woman’s eyes.

The woman looked across at Killian who adorably, seemed to snap to attention, but the woman’s eyes soon returned back to Emma.

“There’s not many who would come up here asking questions like that. Not now that old woman is dead. Her estate sold to some rich city folk instead of being passed down to her daughter as it should have.” The woman quietened again for a moment and Emma could see that she’d already worked it out. Or dared to think she might have. There was a horrible mix of hope and despair in her eyes that had started getting watery.

“What’s your name, girl?”

“Emma,” the name burst from her lips, sent forth with barely contained emotion. And then the woman was keening, falling, embracing and Emma was kneeling in the dirt with her, smothered against the woman by a pair of surprisingly strong arms.

“It can’t be. It can’t. How is this possible? Why now after all these years? All the heartbreak and searching. What brought you here?”

Emma pulled back, blinking up at Killian who smiled a little hesitantly, clearly feeling out of place. He’s instincts had been right. This woman was...

And then Emma was being crushed against the woman again.

“I didn’t want to be found and then...one day, I did. It took a long time to get to this point and the only reason I was able to was because my mother left me a pendant that linked me to her family.”

“You kept it?”

Emma nodded, hoping that no one would ask to see it. Killian would have had no reason to think that her returned treasure would not still be in her possession.

“Come in, come in. I can have a letter sent straight away. You must go to them. You _must_.”

“That was the plan,” Emma replied, feeling suddenly a little suffocated.

The woman, who introduced herself as Ruth, seemed to sense it and staggered back to her feet, waving them eaglery towards the farmhouse. Emma hesitated a moment, until Killian set his hand on the small of her back and edged her forwards.

“I’m with you, Swan.”

She nodded, grateful. This was surreal. This was overwhelming. This was _terrifying_. A little part of her wanted to flee - an ingrained instinct that she imagined she’d be fighting for years. But this is what she had been working towards. She’d waited so long for a happy ending. For a sense of belonging. She couldn’t run now.

Although, as Ruth hurriedly began to pen a letter the moment they were back inside, she felt twitchy and apprehensive. 

Once that letter was sent, there would be no going back. She’d feel obliged to go. Obligated to make this huge, scary step. She’d not really thought about the consequences of making contact. Not thought through what they would think of her. A messed up criminal with a target on her back and a pirate as a lover.

“Wait,” she held out her hand and Ruth paused to look at her. “Maybe don’t send them a letter just yet.”

The woman seemed to look anxious for a moment, “have you changed your mind?”

“I mean...what if they don’t want this...this complication in their life?”

“Oh, Emma. Love. They have been waiting every moment, since your birth, to be reunited with you.”

“But they don’t know me.”

“They don’t need to know you, my dear. You are family. They love you.”

Killian squeezed her hand, leaning close to say: “don’t run from this, love.”

She felt as if she were hyperventilating and, without a word, he gently pulled her to him, allowing her to momentarily hide her face. Cut herself off so that she could gather herself and fight off her worries. She tried to talk herself down, tried to will away the panic that was clenching like a fist around her throat.

She’d found the lead that would get her back to her family.

It didn’t feel real.

“Ok,” she finally replied, “but...maybe wait a couple of weeks before sending? Just so that...that I’m not keeping them waiting.”

The woman set down her writing things and gave them both a tentative smile. It was clear she didn’t understand the hesitancy. Didn’t understand how Emma could ever be a disappointment. It was sweet but naive and Emma knew it would take her some time to get her head around everything. Then the woman started writing again, this time tearing off the note and extending it out to her.

“The address,” the woman explained. Their eyes met and the older woman’s face softened, became wet with tears.

“I’m sorry,” Emma started, feeling as if she’d stirred up old hurts.

“Don’t be, my dear. You just...you look so much like your father. Though your mother’s eyes, perhaps.”

Emma only truly acknowledged, then, that this woman was her grandmother. Her _grandmother_.

“I get a sense that life has not been too kind to you, child,” Ruth continued.

Emma merely shrugged her shoulders.

\---

It was after lunch by the time they left the cottage and struck back out into the countryside. 

Emma felt guilty for leaving the woman alone so soon after they had arrived. Ruth had clearly grown used to a life of solitude - though begrudgingly so. And yet she just could not bring herself to stay, turning down the offer of dinner and a bed for the night. And though the woman had clearly been disappointed, she’d still sent them off with a few morsels, regardless, followed by a crushing hug that Emma had thought she’d never escape from. 

She cradled the wrapped packet to her chest as they headed out, Samiran lingering behind her, casting looks back where Emma refused.

The address of her parents burned in her pocket and she thought about all that she knew of them, now. Mary Margaret and David Nolan. They lived, themselves, on a secluded farm with three other children. All boys. Ruth had sighed wistfully and explained that they might have even had more if they’d been able to. Always thought they were after a girl to remember the one they had lost.

 _To remember_ , Emma had thought pessimistically, _or replace_?

For the next two hours they walked in relative silence, Killian’s presence a comfort, seeming to sense that she needed to be left to her thoughts. Knowing that she would speak when she was ready.

Occasionally, from behind them, she would hear the daemons conversing quietly in the drape of their lengthening shadows.

“How did you know?” she asked without warning.

“About the farmhouse? I didn’t know for certain. It just seemed promising. Romantic little setting out there by the stream. I imagine most young lords and ladies have romantic notions,” he said with teasing affection.

Her mother had certainly been brave and romantic, to give up everything for a man she loved.

“So,” she said, “we’ll head back to your crew?”

“Yes,” he replied, “we have maps there to plot our course and we can see if there have been any updates from Midge.”

They paused to eat Ruth’s offerings, sat on the damp ground, where Killian set about returning his rings to their rightful place. She watched him loop them onto his fingers expertly with his thumb and, when he was done, moved to lace her fingers with his.

“What do you think my parents will do when we show up on their door?”

“I have no doubt there’ll be much embracing, weeping and reminiscing.”

“A warm welcome for their fugitive daughter and her pirate?”

“So I belong to you now, do I?” His voice was teasing, gentle, but she flustered all the same. Then he was laughing, tucking her hair away from her face, “relax, Swan. I am irrevocably _yours_.”

She blinked at him. Said nothing. But if that unnerved him, there was no sign. He simply smiled at her. That knowing smile that peeled away her layers and laid bare her heart. Beside them, Samiran tucked his head in the crook of Sereia’s neck.

She had a family somewhere out there. A mother, a father and three brothers.

Such a thing felt impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings us roughly to the halfway point. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm also taking requests for new fics if anyone has any ideas. I'd prefer to write AUs but won't turn down a canon idea if it grips me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, all. There was quite a large scene that required a rewrite and it proved rather tricky.
> 
> Happy Holidays!

Their return to the crew was met with a flurry of activity. 

The deckhands all looked pleased and relieved to have their captain back, their smiles easy. Smee looked mildly surprised, though not unhappy, to see that he had returned with Emma in tow. Will gave some haughty shout about wondering when they were going to turn up and Robin looked at them with knowing indifference, like he had expected nothing less.

“We’ve had word from Midge,” Smee was the first to speak, breaking up the greetings with business.

“Walk with me,” Killian replied, noting that Emma had dropped back to chat with Will. 

“It’s as we thought, Cap’n,” the man continued when they were almost back at the house, “Teach is walking a fine line at the moment. Most of the crew are unsettled and are untrusting but Midge says Teach’s started trying to gain their trust. He’s promoted his followers but they’re learning on the job and some of the crew are getting twitchy, especially as he’s not staying in port long. They’re not able to see family or enjoy time on land, so they’re not in the best of spirits. He says even if we wait until things settle and they’re spending more time in port, most of the crew would be pleased to return their allegiance to you. They know you too well to believe the insinuations of a mutineer.”

“Aye, that’s good news. When was the correspondence dated?”

“Two weeks after his attempt on your life. It’s lucky that he left before provisions could be fully loaded onto the _Jolly_ , else he’d have likely been out at sea far longer. The limited supplies kept him from sailing too far. There’s no telling when we’ll hear from him again, though. If he sails away from our common waters, it could be weeks.”

“Months,” Killian corrected grimly, “but we knew we’d likely be in this for the long haul.”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

“I think we’re all going to need to take a lesson in patience if we want our plans to come to fruition. Give me a chance to get out of these terrible clothes and then round up the lads. I’ve got the beginnings of a plan.”

Smee cut him a quick salute and spun back the way he’d come.

Killian couldn’t deny that it felt good to be back amongst his crew. To focus on their traitorous pirate problem and envision the day when they’d get back what was theirs and toss the mutinous scum to their watery graves. To make people remember why it was unwise to cross the infamous Captain Hook.

He entered the farmhouse, greeted the farmer’s wife with a bow and a charming smile - laughing at her grumpy response - and then went to bathe and fetch his gear.

When he was done he felt much himself again, the leather coat like armour, his brace tentatively buckled back in place. His shoulder ached in response but it was mostly manageable - for the time-being, at least. Hair still damp, the scent of the soap lingering, and eyes darkened with kohl. He couldn’t help the thrill of being in his own garb again, leaving behind the drabness of those ‘everyday’ clothes that had been a necessity whilst travelling with Swan.

He especially enjoyed the look she gave him when he entered the barn and took a seat amongst his men. A look that stirred his desire, coaxing the flames. He smiled at her, a thing of barely concealed promise, and was rewarded by her immediate flush of embarrassment and want.

She averted her gaze.

“Let’s hear it then,” Locksley began.

“I’ve heard Midge’s report,” he started, “it was never going to be enough to give us all the answers we need, but it’s enough to know that we _will_ succeed when we catch up to them. The likelihood now is that he’ll settle in for some long voyages. Keeping his distance is his best bet, but eventually he’ll have to pander to the needs of his crew, particularly his officers who enabled him to get to his current position. One of his officers has a wife. Sooner or later, he’ll want to pay her a visit.”

The crew murmured in agreement.

“You want eyes on her,” Will spoke up from where he was slumped against the hay bales.

“Well volunteered, Scarlet.” 

“Oi, you arsehole. Just cos I know what you’re planning.”

Killian shot the man a look, the magpie on his shoulder letting forth her cackling call. Sereia growled lazily in response, not quite riled up enough to get up from where she lay.

“Look, you can do what you want when you arrive. Just keep an eye on her. Fuck her for all I care. As soon as the _Jolly_ is spotted in the area, we’ll move to join you.”

Will scoffed, “ah fine. I’ll do it.”

“Smee, I’m going to send you to the port of Wealh. You know as well as I do that rumours of pirate ships start there, particularly if he’s coming from across the Atlantic. By my reckoning, in fair weather, he could make the crossing in around two weeks, minimum. He’ll likely stay there a while before heading back. Most ships from that direction stop at Wealh.

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.” Smee replied.

“I’m going to see my wife and boy,” Robin spoke then.

“Aye, figured as much.”

“Alex, Jack and Tide, you’ll go with Smee.”

“Ha, so you’re really trusting me off on my own then? Unless you’re sending your lady with me?” Will guffawed.

Killian set him with a glare, teeth clenched. “Yes, Scarlet. You’re a big boy now. Unless you think you can’t manage it? I could send Tide in your stead?”

“Pah, you know I’m just trying to get a rise outta yah.”

“What about you?” Robin asked.

“Swan and I have some other business to attend to.”

“They getting hitched, am I right?” Will laughed again.

Killian dared not risk a glance at Emma and was thus surprised to hear her amused laugh.

“What? Get married without you there as Killian’s best man? Wouldn’t dream of it” She retorted, all bite, tossing a battered enamel mug at him. It bounced off his shoulder and the pirate yelped, his daemon’s harsh cries setting off against the peal of laughter that followed.

He realised, then, how naturally she had fallen into the company of his crew. Had not truly appreciated how easily she had done so. Her work side by side with the deckhands, them teaching her the basics of their craft and her, in turn, keeping them in order. And was it truly a surprise, when she had lived dangerously and fearlessly just as they all did?

She’d been born to be a pirate, his Swan.

“If you’re quite done,” he continued, cutting through the camaraderie, “I’m going to ask all of you to keep on the lookout for new talent whilst you’re waiting on news. I’ll see about raising funds for some additional crew members to bolster our numbers. When Swan and I are finished up, we’ll join Scarlet and stay there until this is done.”

The rest of the discussion was about where Smee would stay and to agree on a code for correspondence. Letters that looked simply mundane to anyone who might happen upon them. Smee had been given an unlimited time to listen for rumours, only to leave his position if he had news of Teach’s impending arrival or had summons from Killian. Robin was given four weeks leave with his family before he, too, would join Will and await the return of the _Jolly Roger_.

Then, after a conversation from Will about what would happen if the pirate’s wife was not where she had been left, they eventually agreed that Tide would go with him in case they needed to trail her. They needed someone in situ for correspondence.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” Will grumbled, swatting at his daemon who gave him a peck on the ear.

“So, in all seriousness,” Robin asked, “where will you be heading?”

“We’ve got business north,” he replied.

“My lead proved fruitful. We’ve got an address,” Emma replied.

“If you’re heading further north, it’s going to take you a while to get back to us,” Robin pointed out.

“We’ll aim to arrive the same time as you,” Killian replied.

Locksley’s sparrowhawk shuffled restlessly on his shoulder but the man did not argue the matter.

“When do we leave?” Will asked.

“As soon as you like.”

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Smee replied, speaking for himself and the two who were accompanying him. The man’s red hat had slipped down over his eyes. He looked tired, his rat daemon already starting to doze in the crook of his arm.

“Me too,” Robin replied.

“I guess there’s no reason to stick it out here any longer than we have to.” Will agreed, stretching lazily.

The deckhands were all eager, too, and left together, laughing and joking and tussling as they went. Killian watched them go with a grin, reminiscing when he had been that age, chasing after his brother and playing the nuisance. Liam had always been the steadfast, responsible one, trying to be more father at times. That stance had grated on Killian and, had, in the long run led to him acting out. Fighting back. Angry at his brother for trying to parent him and the father who had bailed on them. 

The rest of the day was spent pouring over maps, estimating distances, quickest routes and pulling together what supplies they had left, splitting them fairly in terms of travel time.

The evening meal passed with much joviality, newly purchased rum doing a pleasant job of settling the persistent ache in his shoulder. And with the warm buzz of company, food and alcohol he entertained himself by catching Emma’s glances and delighted in flustering her without a single word at all - the game only broken when she huffed and turned her back to him.

Then, after a while, the crew start to file back to their makeshift beds dotted around the outhouses. Locksley was not there when he re-entered the barn and he paused to light the lamps, rolling the maps carefully and tucking them into one of the leather satchels that must have belonged to one of the younger of the crew.

He turned at the sound of the heavy barn door being dragged closed to see Emma standing there, her eyes too shadowed for him to easily determine her mood. Her shoulders were set at a stubborn angle, however, and then she was striding towards him with purpose. Conviction.

“You.” She reproached, “what was all _that_?!”

He arched a questioning brow, though couldn’t keep up the facade for long, knowing exactly what she was talking about. His grin widened and she grabbed at the open edges of his coat and branded his mouth with a kiss that almost had him swooning. He clutched at her elbow as a preemptive measure, sucking in a breath as their mouths momentarily parted in their desperation.

He touched the soft curve of her cheek, running his fingers up into her hair, rubbing against her scalp.

“Enough of gentle,” she hissed, her eyes alight with mischief. “I want a _pirate_.”

It amused him how fired up she was, how she seemed not to care that in the tranquility of twilight this place was not the most private for a passionate dalliance. And he had no doubt, from the look in her eye, that it would be passionate.

Drawing in a long breath, he swung her back towards the table and ignored the protests of his shoulder to hoist her atop it, ignoring the way the wood creaked threateningly beneath them.

He was pretty certain it would hold.

\---

“It held,” she laughed quietly, still sprawled against the old wood, eyes closed.

She could taste the earthy scent of his soap on her tongue. Wondered if she’d left any marks on his neck.

“Clearly not my best work,” he replied and she felt him reach for her, allowing him to pull her up into a sitting position where she immediately sagged against him.

“The angle was awkward,” she mumbled into his collarbone, “you were nothing if not tenacious.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through him.

“Let’s do that again sometime,” she whispered.

“Too late to be quiet now, love,” he teased.

She had a retort there at the tip of her tongue, until she looked up and noticed the look in his eyes, the slight strained lines creeping onto his face.

“Hey, what’s-- _oh_. Oh, your shoulder.” She cursed angrily, mostly at herself for forgetting that he was injured beneath that incredibly appealing exterior he had donned. 

“It’s alright, Swan,” he shied away from her touch, “nothing a night’s rest won’t fix.”

But she didn’t believe him, not then and especially when he kept stirring restlessly in the night, the sound hushed but tense. Eventually she lit the lantern next to her and swung it around to where he was shifting gingerly onto his back.

“Hey,” she started, “let’s take a look.”

He had already stripped down to a cotton shirt which he’d neglected to fasten, so getting to his shoulder was an easy enough thing. She ignored his protests and unbuckled the brace, discarding it in the hay.

“I think it was too soon to put your brace back on,” she replied, “I know your reasons and I won’t tell the crew that you’re still recovering, but when it’s just us, the brace comes off, okay?” She smoothed her fingers over the healing scar. It felt a little warm to the touch.

“Stay there a moment,” she left him brooding as she set about finding some gauze, soaking it in cool, fresh water they had brought from the house. Then, she draped the soaked material across his shoulder and settled in behind him, drawing him back into the circle of her arms.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” she murmured, lips brushing against his uninjured shoulder, smiling at the shiver running through him. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I forgot about your shoulder,” she admitted, “You should have told me.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, “It’ll take more than a rough dalliance to break me, love.”

She laughed, the sound loosening the tension in her chest, and leaned across to replace the gauze on his shoulder with cooler ones. He sighed in response, leaning his head back against her. She stroked his hair, smoothing it beneath her fingertips, relishing in the clean, masculine scent of it until, at last, they drifted back to sleep.

\---

He woke to find that he had retained the uncomfortable throb in his shoulder and decided to forgo the brace and hope no one noticed with all the preparations being made. He shoved the leather straps angrily into a satchel and busied himself with dressing and carefully mussing his hair back into place. He was reapplying kohl when Emma snuck up behind him, turning her face into his neck and tempting him with a trail of kisses that were anything but innocent - particularly when one of her hands snuck down through the opening of his shirt.

“You really are trying to do me an injury, Swan,” he groaned.

“How’s the shoulder?” she asked.

“Better,” he replied, ignoring her pointed look.

“Not better,” Rei corrected, making room for Samiran to jump up next to her. “He should rest it but, hey, what do I know? He always has to act so tough.”

“It’s not an act,” Killian retorted, “look, it hurts but it’s fine. I’m not wearing the brace, what more do you want from me?”

“Maybe we could fashion a sling?” Emma suggested.

Killian tried his best not to look horrified at that idea.

“Not _now_ ,” Emma reasoned, “when we’re gone from here. I understand, you know, not wanting to show weakness in front of the crew. You’re worried they’ll lose faith,” her voice was so quiet but the truth of the words rubbed him raw.

“It won’t always cause you pain,” Sereia reminded.

“I know,”

“The doctor said gentle exercise,” the cat chided, that glint in her eye making Emma shift sheepishly from one foot to the other.

“Look,” the cat reasoned, “I get it. Just maybe let the lady lead next time, hm?”

“That might be for the best,” Samiran declared, “Sereia bites when you get rough.” His face was so serious that Emma was part amused and part horrified

“Don’t pretend you didn’t love it, Sam,” Killian retorted with a smirk, “because I for sure know that your other half did.”

He huffed and dropped from the table.

Rei just looked mightily pleased.

The door to the barn edged open. “Is it safe?” came Will’s crass voice, though he didn’t wait for an answer before he was shoving inside. His magpie daemon alighting from his shoulder to land on the recently christened table.

“By all means, come right on in,”

“Not to be too forward, mate,” Will continued, “but you two have had weeks alone, right? Was it really necessary to keep us all awake with your rutting last night? Poor Tide’s traumatised.”

“Mate?” Killian bit at the word, setting his teeth.

Will flashed him a grin.

He heard Emma’s laugh and settled himself a little. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Will. To be fair, the man was one of his more dependable crew members, he just had a way of getting under his skin. He had a punchable sort of face.

“Tide chose to sign onto a pirate’s ship, if he’s still getting traumatised then maybe he made the wrong life choices,” Emma spoke up.

“You go tell him that, eh? Poor lad won’t even be able to look at yah, I’d wager.”

Emma’s widening grin near split her face, “we’ll see.”

His magpie daemon, River, bobbed her head and scuttled across the table, crossing the short distance to Will’s outstretched arm. She grasped his wrist and cocked her head, sly and mischievous.

“Aye, well, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Just thought you should know that Smee’s heading out. If you want to catch him, best get a wriggle on.”

And with a mocking salute he backed out of the door.

Killian chanced a look across at Emma who was smoothing the coarse fur along Sam’s back, looking surprisingly at ease despite Will’s jibes.

She caught his gaze and gave him a dismissive shrug. “I like Will. Can’t be too mad at him.”

There was a distinct ache in his chest. Words of endearment on the tip of his tongue. Words that kept trying to break free. Words that he forced back down the moment he knew he wanted to speak them. Too afraid that if he did she’d be spooked.

That she’d leave him.

He could feel Rei’s gaze, hard on him, could feel her sudden urge to just blurt what he was thinking. Hoped his sudden pleading glance was enough to quell her.

She gave a low growl and dipped her head, shifting her gaze with a swipe of a paw across her face.

The pain in his shoulder niggled and, automatically, he rubbed at the healing wound with the palm of his hand, trying to ease up the ruined tissue beneath it.

Ignoring Emma’s worried look, he planted his feet firmly and stood, Rei jumping up to trail after him.

\---

The farewells were simple things. 

A map was passed to Smee and to Will; their route carefully marked out for them. 

Robin, of course, knew exactly where he was heading and, in truth, Smee likely did as well. It was mostly to settle Killian’s unease at splitting the crew, not liking how it felt a bit like they might decide it was too much effort. Too risky.

Like the beginning of the end.

Robin was the first to leave, bidding them a silent farewell, shrugging his pack over his shoulder and following after the beautiful sweep of his sparrowhawk’s wings.

Smee was ready next; Alex and Jack shifting uneasily at his side.

“Keep an eye on the quartermaster, won’t you, lads?” Killian started, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. His rat-daemon, Shanks, was settled in the collar of his shirt, peeking out from behind his neck, beady eyes bright with intelligence.

Along with the map, Killian handed him a heftier sum of money, “Wealh will have some good talent milling about. Remember to do a bit of head hunting whilst you’re there, alright?”

“Aye-aye, Cap’n.”

“Take care of yourself, Smee. Keep out of trouble.”

“Aye, you too,” the man was peering cautiously around Killian’s shoulder. At Emma, he had no doubt. “Keep her close, Cap’n.”

His answering smile was wry. “Off with you.”

And then it was Will, swaggering across from the farmhouse, Tide hurrying to catch up, his arms laden with two heavy bags. Tide’s daemon - a common tern - circled above his head, her calls shrill.

“Scarlet,” Killian’s voice snapped like a whip, bringing the slightly younger man up short, “The lad is not your servant. Carry your own bags or leave them behind.”

“What? He offered!” And then at Killian’s glare he threw up his hands in surrender, “alright, don’t go harping on about it. Chuck us a bag, Tide.” The lad did so, his seabird daemon snatching at it midair, clearly still cross.

“For the love of--” Killian rubbed his hand up his face and briefly into his hair, “don’t let me down, Scarlet.”

“Course not, mate. Yah know where to find me,” he gave his captain a wink and Killian decided - just this once - to let it go.

Emma was racing to join them, drawing Will into a brief hug.

“Ey, take care of him, would yah?” Will added, “and please, remember to keep it down.”

Behind him Tide looked suddenly like he wanted the ground to swallow him up and then, with a few more brash jokes traded, they were alone again.

Just the two of them.

She stepped in, linked her fingers with his and stood a long moment, the silence settling heavily but with a familiarity now that he realised was more comfortable than awkward.

“I’m going to miss them,” she said softly.

“Aye.”

“We’ll see them again soon,” she continued, her words pulling hard at his heart. We? Had she truly meant that or was it just words of comfort. He tightened his grip on her hand and she turned to look at him, looking sad and beautiful.

And those words were on the tip of his tongue again, threatening to bubble out.

_I love you._

It didn’t even surprise him anymore how often he had to fight the urge to say it. For all her walls and initial prickliness, she was incredibly easy to love. To see the kindness and vulnerability unfold like the petals of some fragile flower. To earn her trust. Perhaps, someday, to earn her love, too.

He cleared his throat, looking away, afraid she might read it in his eyes.

At their feet, Rei butted up against Sam, tucking her head in against his neck. He felt his heart swell at it and pulled Emma in to mirror the act.

“Let’s go find your parents, love.” Was what he said instead, but from the look in her eyes, he might have worried that he’d said those forbidden words anyway.

She looked at him as if he were the world and, for a moment, he let himself believe it.

\---

Emma had agreed to sell a couple of her stolen trinkets to make enough money to hire a car after having quickly dismissed the idea of stealing one. She was in enough trouble as it was without adding even more to her list of crimes and, as they had set off once more, she couldn’t help but wonder if she were still being tracked.

There had been no one in her ‘hometown’ but that might only mean that word had yet to catch up with them.

“It’s a difficult one,” Killian replied when she asked him about it, “on one hand, the Magisterium are persistent when it comes to upholding their version of the law. They’ll want to make you pay, mostly because you made a fool of them. You managed to get inside help and make away with documents from their central archive. Generally, that sort of thing should be near impossible for an outsider. The staff wouldn’t normally be manipulated into betraying their employer.”

Emma gave a soft ‘hm’ in response, knowing he was right.

“What I took were copies. It would have been difficult to figure out what was taken.”

“Unless your inside man was persuaded otherwise.”

“I managed to coerce him relatively easily but he seemed a good man - considering where he worked and all. I simply asked that he leave a door or two unlocked and found what I needed. If he had any idea what I was looking for, they’d have found my parents already and be waiting.”

Cold horror flooded her at the thought, her step faltering just a little, “no, there’s no way. I was careful. I covered my tracks. The only way they’d know what I’d copied is if they’d caught me and searched my possessions.”

“Then let’s ensure they don’t catch up to us.”

“They could use them against me. My family...”

“Well...aye, they could, but let’s cross that bridge when we get there. _If_ we get there.”

She shuffled her feet, nodding, slipping her hand back into his with a simple, familiar ease.

That evening, their bodies joined in a far gentler union; a lingering sweetness that left her feeling unnerved.

She looked across at his sleeping face, smooth and relaxed, and traced a fingertip along the line of his collarbone; pausing only when he shifted a little.

Being with him like this was so easy. Ridiculously so.

She’d had to have been blind not to see how he looked at her. With his heart in his eyes. As if she were someone significant. Someone irreplaceable. And she longed to be. Longed to tell him that he made her happy and terrified all at once.

“Tell him,” Sam urged sleepily from somewhere behind her, “in the morning.”

She nodded, already knowing that she wouldn’t.

\---

The journey was swifter than Emma had thought it would be, their trip made immeasurably easier by the car they had paid for. 

After they arrived at the city, they stocked up on provisions for the last leg of their journey - one that would take them into the wilds of the highlands where the population was spread far and wide and the comforts few and far between.

No warm beds. No hot water. No luxuries at all.

She was not looking forward to the cold spring nights up amongst the hills.

“I’ll share my blanket with you, love, if you promise not to monopolize it.”

She scoffed, throwing the crust of her bread at him. It struck him on the side of his head, his expression so surprised that she burst into unexpected laughter.

“Don’t start something you won’t be able to finish, Swan,” he warned, an impish look to his smile and the crook of his brow.

She tucked in her lips, biting on them to hide her smile. Her fingers closed on the rest of her bread and, as subtly as she could, she relieved it of the crust and threw it.

He was ready for her this time, bending back at the waist as it flew past his head. And, in that easy, fluid motion he closed the gap between them, grabbing at her wrist and pulling her to him.

“You’ve done it now, Swan.”

She laughed, trying to wrest herself free, but then his hand was in her hair, ruffling it so that, when she finally twisted free of his hook, she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed.

“Oh no you didn’t!”

“I rather think I did.”

She went for a handful of earth, a shrill laugh in her throat as she felt him move to stop her - too late. The earth struck him on the chest, falling into the opening of his shirt.

He wrestled her back into the tight circle of his arms, his foot behind hers to drop her - albeit gently - to the floor. She almost expected him to take a similar vengeance but, instead, he leaned on his right elbow and kissed her. She felt herself melt into him instantly, which must have been his plan, for the moment she did so he shifted onto his left and rubbed lines of dirt across her cheek.

“Oh, sorry, love, you got a bit...just there.”

She shoved at his shoulder - gently - and then, with her hands on his collar, pulled herself up to kiss him again. She noticed how he shifted again, favouring his right side once more, and felt a pang of guilt at needlessly stressing his injury. They broke apart, though still lingered, peering at one another through heavy eyes.

He kissed her again, a slow thing that stirred heat inside her, a slow, creeping thing that she didn’t want to ignore. That she _wouldn’t_ ignore. Except…

“I really don’t mean to break up this moment but…” They broke apart unwillingly, turning their heads to regard Rei standing over them, looking at them with all the sternness of a parent. “The hour is late and we’ve yet to reach the valley.”

The look Killian gave his daemon drew another laugh from her and then he was gathering his feet beneath him and offering her a hand. She took it, but not before her fingers curled in the dirt so that she could, childishly, throw it at him. It showered his hair and, at the disbelieving look in his eye, she broke free and ran.

“Emma!” Sam chided, darting after her.

“You’re going to regret that, Swan!”

And a few seconds later he caught her about the waist, turning her in a circle and claiming her mouth again, groaning in pleasure as she rifled her fingers through his hair to shift the granules of dirt from his scalp.

“Ugh, _really_?” Rei snapped, flattening her ears and baring her teeth. Sam gave her a nudge with his shoulder and sat beside her, his face uncharacteristically soft.

Emma smiled as he pulled away that time, his fingers lingering against the dirt on her cheek.

“Alright, alright, let’s go,” but he kept his arm around her waist as they continued on. Just in case, you know, she had any more ideas about throwing more dirt at him.

That night as they slept at the base of the valley, tucked out of the worst of the wind, he did share his blanket and he did have to prise his share back before morning.

\---

She ran her fingers through her hair for the hundredth time, untying it and tying it again. The dirt had long been washed from her face, though her clothes were rumpled from being kept rolled in her pack. She smoothed her hands over the front of her blouse and, after a moment, closed the fastenings on her jacket to hide the creases.

She pondered her hair again, but before she could touch it, Sam gave her a shove.

“It’s fine, Emma.” the jaguarundi declared, sounding irritable.

“Not better down?”

Her daemon set her with a glare and she gave him a meek sort of smile and a shrug.

“They wanted us, Emma.” 

“They did,” she confirmed, “but we haven’t thought this through, Sam. That was so many years ago. They have other children. They have...all of this.” She waved her hand idly in the direction of their destination.

“But they don’t have us,” the jaguarundi urged softly.

“Listen to the sea cat, Swan,” Killian added, slipping up beside them, “he’s talking sense. Besides, I did _not_ hike all the way up here to have you turn away now. If you don’t go knock on that door, I’ll go do it myself.”

She blinked, startled.

“What’s the worst that can happen, love?”

_They could turn me away. Look at me blankly. Invite me in out of politeness and send me away with nothing but curt well wishes._ Instead of voicing those thoughts, she simply nodded, not daring to meet Killian’s eyes - knowing that he’d read her.

Though, from past experience, he already had.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

“I’m right behind you.”

She drew in a sharp breath, set her shoulders and, with that, jumped the fence and strode out into the open, tenderly manicured gardens. 

The place was, in truth, something out of a picture book. The house itself looked as if it had stood for centuries - and would stand for centuries more. It was set beautifully into the landscape, made of worn grey stone with a cross gable roof and a chimney at either end. The decorative timber had been painted duck egg blue to match a beautiful but simple timber door. The flower beds set against the frontage of the house were wild in nature, self-seeding varieties that softened the look and swept down to the left to follow the gentle curve of the valley, the natural slope leading to the farmland that, no doubt, belonged to the house.

Somewhere, the sound of dogs barking, momentarily interrupted the little pocket of serenity.

Emma knocked on the door the moment she reached it, not even giving herself a chance to think about it. The long silence that followed was filled with the thud of her heart.

“Knock again, love,” Killian urged.

She knocked again, louder. The tone sounded urgent. Frantic.

“They’re not here,” she said at last, sounding desolate as she turned to look down at Sam.

“Let’s check around the back. Farmers tend to wake with the sun. They might already be out at work,” the jaguarundi replied.

Emma nodded wordlessly and turned to follow the lazy curl of flowers that swept down to the left of the farmhouse. They were cut short by a low, drystone wall and a large gate that she climbed. Sam slipped between the bars. 

The land beyond was all hills and dips and rocky outcrops dotted with sheep. Beautiful and wild. Dogs barked again and there was the sound of commotion from a low, ramshackle looking barn tucked in amongst some well-manicured trees.

Emma realised, only then, how quickly she’d been walking. Sam was loping easily at her heel but she knew - without looking - that Killian had started to drop back a little. Forgot that a night in the cold caused him discomfort now. Though maybe he’d purposely dropped back so as not to intrude.

As she neared the barn, she opened her mouth to call out. A greeting, perhaps, when, in the next second she was brought up just short of collision as a young lad came tearing around the corner. He gave a cry of surprise, his daemon shifting from a puppy and into a small songbird that gave a trill of alarm.

Emma felt her heart squeeze painfully.

“Uh…” the boy blinked, his daemon coming to settle on his shoulder, chirping. “Can I help you?”

Emma stood, mouth hanging slightly open for a moment, and then shook her head slightly to resettle her thoughts. “Sorry...I just...I was wondering if your...uh, your parents were around?”

His hair was dark, his eyes light but there was something about him. Something that told her exactly who he was. That she was definitely in the right place.

“Sure. They expecting you?” He was eyeing her cautiously again and she shifted uneasily under his scrutiny.

“Yes, I guess. I’m Emma?” She had no idea why she phrased her name like a question, wincing at her own awkwardness.

It had the desired effect, however. The boy’s eyes blew wide and the songbird on his shoulder gave a call of delight.

“It’s Emma!” the bird chirped.

“Mum!” The boy shouted then, his voice beyond ecstatic, clearly running on instinct now. “Mum, you gotta come see this!”

When there was no response he gave a groan of irritation and shot Emma a look, “stay right here. I’m going to go get her. Stay _here_.”

Emma nodded, dumbfounded, watching as the boy - her little brother no less - dashed across the grass and, in doing so, ran straight into the woman who Emma knew, instantly, was her mother. Her whole body tingled in response, her chest tightening, her eyes burning.

“Charlie, please watch where you’re…” the woman trailed, finally noticing the strangers standing just a few metres away. 

“Mum!” the boy - Charlie - whined, pulling at the woman’s hand.

“Who…?” The question died on the woman’s lips. She shook her head slowly, her face contorting between absolute exhilaration and crippling anguish. Then she took a step towards them, a desperate sound clawing its way out of her throat. It resonated painfully at Emma’s heart and then suddenly there were arms around her, crushing the breath from her lungs.

“Emma,” the woman whispered, holding her tighter, holding onto her as if a stray breeze might blow her away. “Emma, Emma, Emma. It’s really you. It’s _really you_.” And then the rest of her words turned to ineligible nonsense and, at last, life was restored to Emma’s limbs and she, finally - finally - returned the embrace.

She’d waited her whole life to be held by her mother.

It didn’t feel real. Wondered whether it ever would.

Her mother rocked her in her arms and Emma listened to her shaky breath even as she held her own.

And then the woman pulled back, holding her at arm’s length and regarding her with an intensity that made Emma want to shrink away. Perhaps she even would have if the woman’s eyes had contained anything but the disbelieving warmth that she had craved all her life.

She was a slight woman with dark hair, cropped short, and hazel eyes. Even dressed in practical clothing there was something of nobility in her, in the delicate cheekbones and elfin features. Her daemon, a cheerful little robin, hopped down the extended length of her arm, coming to settle at her wrist where her hand gripped at Emma’s upper arms.

“We are _so_ happy to see you,” he trilled, his sing-song voice elated.

Mary Margaret, her mother, reached up and touched her cheek and Emma realised, only then, that she’d been weeping the moment she’d laid eyes on her.

“My dear, sweet Emma,” Mary Margaret said softly. “You came home. You came home to us.”

She gave a slightly embarrassed sort of smile, nodding.

“I always hoped...I mean...I thought of you every day. How much I had failed you and I...I always hoped that you would come home someday. That you would find us.”

Emma just continued to nod, not sure what to say.

She could tell there were a thousand questions burning on her mother’s tongue. Emma had enough questions of her own. No doubt they could talk for days and days without having time to answer them all. But some of Emma’s questions held old hurts and she was hesitant to ask anything now. Wondered if that’s why Mary Margaret didn’t, either. Afraid of answers. Afraid of stirring up ill feeling so soon after meeting.

If they knew of some of the things she had done...

“I didn’t think you wanted me before.” Emma gave in a simple way of explanation.

Then she was being held again, the robin daemon taking his leave before he got crushed by the embrace.

“What changed?” Mary Margaret asked.

“I finally decided to look for answers,” she replied with a small shrug.

“They grew up so beautifully,” the robin was saying, a moment later.

“They did,” Mary replied reverently, “we always wondered what your daemon had settled as. He’s very beautiful.”

“I thought you’d be a songbird,” Mary Margaret’s daemon declared.

Mary Margaret looked sad at that. Emma wondered whether it was because she suspected that her daughter’s life would never have seen her daemon settling as such.

“He favoured a robin form for a while,” Emma gave in response. It was true enough in those early days before she had been returned to the orphanage.

The robin daemon looked pleased at that. “I must have left an impression on you, Samiran.”

The jaguarundi just tilted his head.

“You gave Samiran his name?” Emma asked.

“As is customary,” the robin replied.

“This is Caeron,” Mary Margaret introduced and after another moment of silence she pulled Emma into yet another embrace.

And then suddenly the bubble extended beyond just the two of them and she realised that someone was rushing to join them, tall and fair. He pulled up short, his english shepherd daemon tucking in close to his heels. He hovered somewhat hesitantly, approaching again only when Mary Margaret had stepped aside.

“David…” Mary Margaret started.

“Emma,” he replied, his face lighting up with a smile. And then he was closing the distance, sweeping her off of the floor in a hug that made Emma feel four years old again.

“My mother sent word but...you’re here. _You’re here_.”

She gave a sob that turned into a laugh and held him tight, holding onto the moment so that she might remember it forever. The feel of his strength, the smell of the earth and wind in his hair and clothes. The look of pure joy when he pulled away to look at her, as if he had been gifted the greatest of all treasures.

Eventually he snapped out of his stupor and turned to his wife, “what are we all doing standing around? Let’s get up to the house.”

“Yes, let’s,” Mary Margaret declared, looping her arm through Emma’s and luring her towards the house, sparing a brief glance at her daughter’s companion to extend the offer to him.

\---

It was only when they were nestled on the comfortable couch in the farmhouse that Killian moved to join her again. Having taken a backseat to allow for those first moments he’d seemed to sense that his presence might now be welcome - if only to stave off the ridiculous amount of hugging that her parents were indulging in.

Emma had never really been a cuddler - Killian being the only real exception to that - and after a while he must have seen the exasperation on her face.

Her hero.

He was chuckling lowly as he joined her, taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

“Ah, where do we even start! I thought about this day all my life and now...well, I feel quite lost for words.” the dark haired woman was saying and it looked as if she were preparing to hug Emma again - seeming to think better of it now that Killian was in close proximity.

“So, who is your handsome friend?” Mary Margaret began, her eyes sweeping over Killian with unrestrained curiosity.

“Killian Jones, milady,” he introduced.

Mary Margaret held out her hand to him and he took it easily, kissing her knuckles.

Emma fought the desire to roll her eyes but her mother seemed absolutely enchanted by him; her face a picture of utter delight at his gentlemanly manners.

“And how long have you two known each other?”

“A few months,” Emma replied, realising - in retrospect - that they’d not known each other even for _that_ long. This thing they had was a little whirlwind. A little intense.

“Oh!” Mary Margaret was clearly just as surprised, “I’d have guessed much longer. You look so comfortable with one another. Perhaps there _is_ still such a thing as true love.” She clapped her hands together in pure delight and Emma wanted the floor to open up beneath her. She felt Killian squeeze her hand reassuringly but didn’t dare look his way. Her face was burning with embarrassment and with the terror that her mother might actually be correct in her assertion.

“I trust him,” Emma replied and, in her way, that was a declaration. “He’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Nonsense, Swan. We both know you would have gotten here with or without my aid.”

“Swan?” David asked.

“Oh, the...the pendant.” Emma rushed to explain, “the one you stashed in the box?”

“The Blanchard Swan,” Mary Maraget replied looking wistful.

“It was how I found you.”

And the woman was looking close to tears again, David quick to put his arms around her shoulders.

“It was your father’s idea,” Mary Margaret continued, “to leave you with it, so you would know where you came from.”

“I can hardly believe you found it,” David replied, “let alone kept it all these years.”

“Yeah, sentimental, I guess.” Emma gave another shrug thinking that maybe that was true, after all. She shuffled awkwardly, hoping they didn’t ask her to see it. “It came in handy on multiple occasions.”

“Oh?” David asked.

“Well…” Emma wasn’t even sure how to broach the subject of how she’d used the pendant, “it...it did what you hoped it would do.”

“And how much do you know? About what happened, I mean?” Mark Margaret started, gently.

Emma recounted the tale of her return to her hometown and what she had discovered from the orphanage, the archive and from Ingrid. She paid particular attention to her parents reactions when discussing the woman who had once been a friend; saw the pinch of sadness in their faces.

“I was so cross with her,” Mary Margaret admitted, “devastated, really, to think of how I’d lost you. The way I treated her after she left you at that orphanage...well, it wasn't my finest moment. She did what she did through love. I see that now.”

“You were young,” David said softly, “and heartbroken. We both were.”

“You never thought of finding your daughter yourselves?” Killian asked, careful to keep the accusation from his tone.

“Oh but we did. Once things had settled down with my mother, we tried to reclaim her, but by then Emma had been adopted and the orphanage would give us no details.”

“You came to the orphanage?”

“Yes,” Mary Maragaret replied.

That made Emma angry. The nuns had never told her, had never given her any reason to suspect that anyone had come for her. “We tried again when you turned eighteen. As an adult, you had the opportunity to be contacted by your birth family. We wrote to the orphanage and waited months for a response. They eventually told us you had left of your own accord...and we couldn’t find any trace. It was like you didn’t exist.”

“I didn’t,” Emma replied, a little abruptly, “not really. I kept to myself. Changed my name with every new town. Reinvented myself over and over. It wasn’t your fault.”

And Emma saw the looks on their faces. Sad was not the word. She knew then, that she could never truly tell them what she had gone through. The absolute heartbreak of being returned to the orphanage. Of waiting to be picked until, eventually the hope was scratched out of her. Her decision to trust only in herself, to run from the orphanage and rely only on herself and her instincts until she found short reprieve with Neal - only to be tossed aside again a year later. They could never know the things she had done to survive. 

She averted her eyes abruptly, afraid they would see it in her eyes.

“Was it terrible?” Her mother was asking, reaching out for her free hand.

“Not always,” came her response. There had been brief moments of happiness before it had, inevitably, been stolen away.

“Will you stay here?” Mary Margaret asked, “both of you, of course. For as long as you want.” Emma saw what the woman really wanted to ask. Whether they would stay indefinitely.

“Uh…” she cast her eyes sceptically towards Killian.

“By my estimation we’ve got the best part of three weeks, love.”

“Does that sound okay?” Emma asked and, without warning, Mary Margaret had thrown her arms around the both of them, squeezing them with an impressive strength for one of such small stature.

“Of course. It’s more than okay. You could stay forever if you wanted. We have the spare room now that Leo’s moved to the city.”

“Leo?”

“He’s the oldest of our three boys. He decided to follow more scholarly pursuits. Charlie and James still live here with us. Charlie, you already met. He’s twelve. The most free-spirited of the three of them. James is nineteen, he works the farm with us. He’s out with the ewes at the moment. We’re coming into lambing season and he likes to be there to keep an eye on their progress.”

“You told them about me?”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret replied, “they’ve always known they had a sister and that we hoped she’d come home someday.”

As if on cue, Charlie entered the house, his daemon now a scottish wildcat that pounced and rolled across the floor. “James said he’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Boots!” Mary Margaret warned.

“Okay!” He yelled, flinging the said articles off of his feet and then tearing towards the kitchen to see what was being prepared. David swatted his fingers away with a firm warning about washing hands first and then food preparation got underway with a chaotic enthusiasm that had Emma smiling with uncertainty from her seat on the coach.

“Relax, love,” Killian murmured softly, “you’re allowed this.”

Allowed to be happy? Was she allowed this? Before being spirited away on a pirate ship she would never have believed it. But here and now, sat on the worn couch in front of a crackling fire, listening to the voices of her family trading back and forth whilst she held onto the man she cared for…

This was happiness and she was part of it.

For as long as she was allowed it.

\---

She learned that David was a kind man, one that put his family before anyone else. That he worked hard and loved the wild of the highlands and the life that he led. She learned that his wife - her mother - had been a lover of fairytales as a child and had dreamed about being rescued from her life by a handsome prince. Learned that they’d fallen for each other after one conversation during an unexpected meeting (some of David’s prized ewes had broken into estate lands and he’d been trespassing to try and get them back). They met often. Planned a future. Wedded and, accidentally, fell pregnant with Emma shortly after.

She learned that Charlie loved animals, that he was often daydreaming on the job or recording the homes of the toads and the favoured nesting places of ospreys. He knew where the otters brought their pups for their first swim and the glade where you were guaranteed to see the sprightly play of the red squirrels.

Later, when James returned from the fields, scruffy and tired and a complete lookalike for his father, she learned that he was a serious, hard-working young man. He did not have the natural easy-going nature of his parents, in fact looking a little embarrassed about their smothering behaviour.

Emma felt a connection to him instantly. Wondered how much of her personality was genetic as well as learned.

She wondered what her family thought of her. Whether they felt a connection or just confused as to why she didn’t offer to share anything much of herself.

Couldn’t stop thinking about their patient, kindly eyes and Charlie’s incessant energy that had done well to pierce the tension.

She was brought back to the present by the sound of floorboards creaking beneath Killian’s bare feet as he returned the wash things he had borrowed from her. He stretched, catlike in his manner, and joined her amongst the blankets with a groan of exhaustion.

Sereia bounded up onto the bed, kneading at the covers with her claws, purring loudly.

“I’m going to sleep for days,” he mumbled.

Emma rolled on her side to look at him.

He smelt of rose and jasmine and she loved how he’d long since given up complaining at her choice of scented soap.

( _“Well I didn’t buy it for you.”_ )

She pressed her nose against his neck and drew in a deep breath, filling her lungs with the fresh scent of him. “Mmm, smells pretty.”

He gave an amused huff and pulled her close. “Rather partial to roses,” he replied, sounding half asleep already. “How are you faring, Swan?”

“I’m not certain,” she felt nervous. She felt out of place. She thought she would want to run the moment she realised what she was stepping into but...after the initial meeting, the need to bolt had receded somewhat. “Ask me again in a few days.”

He nodded, the scruff on his chin catching on her hair and scratching against her scalp.

She gave a happy sort of sound and cuddled in close, buried in a cocoon of warmth - realising with a little amusement that their daemons were curled up tight under a blanket of their own.

\--

“So I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t speak much about your...beau, yesterday. How did you two meet?” Mary Margaret asked, the question innocent enough. Emma was almost surprised that it hadn’t come up yesterday, though there had been a lot to cover and they’d mostly been content with letting her offer information rather than asking for it. Really, all she’d truly told them was how she’d tracked them down, purposely leaving the illegal activity and the _Jolly Roger_ out of her story, starting at the arrival of her hometown.

Now, though, she realised that as things were less emotional and moving into developing a relationship with her family, there’d be more questions about her and her lifestyle. About her past.

Emma took a sip of her tea to delay her response and give her thinking time: “He works on the ship I bought passage on to get here.”

The woman startled, “oh, a _sailor_. How lovely. I did think he had a certain...air about him.”

Emma flushed and Samiran gave an unhelpful laugh as he leaped up into her lap. She gripped him tightly in an attempt to chase away his amusement.

“So…? Tell me more.”

“Oh...right.” She shifted uncomfortably at the table, tracing the rim of her cup with the tip of a finger, “I hadn’t originally planned to take a ship but… I got myself into a spot of bother. Had to make a bit of a getaway and I asked for passage on his ship.”

“Ah,” Mary Margaret’s eyes were twinkling with delight. 

Emma barely managed to stifle a groan. She already knew the woman's penchant for a good love story and, in that regard, it _was_ quite a tale. 

“I paid for passage with the pendant you left for me. It was the only valuable possession I had and he seemed to think it would be enough compensation for having another mouth to feed.”

“So...a merchant ship?”

Emma hesitated. Truth or lie? She didn’t know them yet. Weren’t sure how they’d react about having criminals in their house. She a thief. He a pirate. 

“Not exactly,” she finally settled on.

Killian chose that moment to join them in the kitchen and she wondered whether he’s been idling in the doorway listening to them speaking. He leaned around her, snatching a piece of toast from her plate and shoving it between his teeth. His grin was alive with levity and she knew what he wanted her to say.

_‘Pirate.’_

Oh, to hell with it. Her parents would find out the truth eventually and if they weren’t interested in consorting with criminals it was probably better to get it over and done with rather than a few weeks down the line.

Killian was eating obnoxiously close to her ear and she shoved him with her elbow to warn him off.

Then, she turned to Mary Margaret and blurted: “he’s a pirate.”

She felt Killian tense beside her and Mary Margaret looked at her with wide, hazel eyes; speechless for a moment. And then she was shifting her gaze, casting her eyes across Killian with his mussed hair, shadowed jaw and single earring, his cotton vest unlaced at the neck and then to the rings adorning his one hand.

“Oh.” Was all she said.

“It’s ok,” Emma hastened to add, “his reputation is mostly fiction.”

“Hey!” Killian started to defend himself but, again, she shoved her elbow against his ribs and he smothered any further complaints by shoving the rest of the toast into his mouth, sulking like a child at having his reputation tarnished.

“Listen,” the woman leaned forwards to rest her hand across Emma’s, “if he makes you happy then that’s all that matters. True love rarely follows a smooth course. I know that better than most.”

Emma felt fear clench tight in her chest. Samiran shifted uneasily in her lap, his claws piercing into her thighs.

There was that word again. That huge, terrifying, life-altering word that this woman uttered as if it were a simple, easy thing.

“Nothing about my life has been a smooth course.” Emma bit out and, without warning, she stood and headed for the door. Not wanting to turn back. Not wanting to see the horror or the pity on the woman’s face as she started to realise how broken her daughter was.


	8. Chapter 8

“Did I say something wrong?” Mary Margaret asked softly, showing no signs of nervousness at being left alone with a pirate.

Killian shrugged a shoulder at her, “no, she just needs her space. I don’t say this to hurt you, my lady, but she’s grown up in a hard, cold world, let down by everyone she cared for. And...well...we don’t really use the ‘L’ word.” Even though he’d wanted to.

Damn he’d _wanted_ to.

He hated to see the guilt on the woman’s face at his words but, somehow, it felt like something she needed to know if she wanted to make progress with Emma. Even if she hadn’t wanted to abandon her daughter, the truth was that Emma had been alone for most of her life.

“Her defences are up,” he continued, “and she doesn’t let them down easily.”

“What should we do?”

“Give her time, love. She’ll come ‘round. Just, uh, lay off with the ‘true love’ thing for a bit.”

“Even if it's true?”

“ _Especially_ if it’s true.” 

He could feel her scrutinising him but he didn't look away and, after a moment, the woman seemed to come to a conclusion. She nodded, taking a sip from her cup. Her daemon twittered, a thoughtful sound.

“I think,” she said after a moment, setting down her drink, “David and I have a lot of years to make up for. That won’t be possible in three weeks, maybe not ever, but it’ll be a start. It seems like you have plans after your visit here?”

“Aye. And ones that can’t be put on hold, unfortunately. Emma’s not obligated to come with me, though. If she changes her mind, she knows I’d understand.”

“Are you being serious? Of course she’ll go with you.” Mary Margaret laughed, “and that’s the way it should be, so long as she knows she’s always welcome to visit whenever she likes. So, in the time we do have, we have to make sure she knows that. That our door is always open.”

“The lass has had it tough,” Killian said gently, “just go easy.”

“I think she’s open to the idea of love and family more than you let on. After all, it's taken only a few months for her to open up to you.”

“What can I say? I’m just particularly adept at bringing out the best in her,” his teasing tone sobered, “we have a lot in common, she and I. She’s something of an open book if you recognise what’s on the cover.”

Mary Margaret’s face flashed with something. Jealousy, perhaps? Or maybe disbelief that her firstborn, apparently, had so much in common with a pirate.

“She saved my life, too. In more ways than one. Despite my somewhat hazardous occupation, I’d never let anything happen to her. You have my word.”

“I believe you. I can see how much she cares for you. How much she trusts you. That pendant didn’t just buy her a ship. It brought her to you. That one little family heirloom had its use after all.”

“Aye, that it did.”

“I’m glad something good came of that wretched Blanchard crest. Hopefully it will bring someone else a bit of luck, now, wherever it may be.”

Killian said nothing, just eyed her thoughtfully. Had Emma not told her that he had returned her payment? 

\---

Half an hour later, Mary Margaret found Emma not far from the house, leaning over the old well that had been a source of great entertainment for her boys growing up. Eventually she’d convinced David to seal it over with a grille after her second son, James, had almost disappeared headfirst. Still, the gaps had been enough for them to drop stones or coins and listen for the echoed splash that had always followed.

She missed those days more than anything. Missed the sounds of their laughter and the scuttle of their little feet; traipsing mud across the kitchen tile. She missed it all. Perhaps even the long months of sleeplessness, cradling a baby who had just woken for the fourth time before the stroke of midnight.

None of her boys had been good sleepers.

But she had no such memories of Emma. Only the sweet weight of her in her arms, mewling and pink, held close to her breast. The smell of her as she pressed kisses to her tiny, wrinkled brow. The sorrow of handing her over, not knowing - at that time - that she would not see her daughter again for twenty-eight long years.

And now, like a dream, her daughter was back, leaning over that well as her three sons had done before her. Tall and lean and beautiful.

She was wiping tears away even before she settled in beside her daughter, ducking to retrieve a small stone, passing it idly between her fingertips.

“I love it up here,” she started, letting the stone drop and the reverberating echo of its dip fill the silence.

“It’s peaceful,” Emma replied, leaning forward on her elbows. She’d since tied her hair up into a ponytail, looking all the younger for it.

“Your father wanted to stay and see you this morning, but the farm…”

“Animals don’t wait.” Emma replied without emotion.

“He’ll drop by at lunch. Both boys are helping today.”

“Listen...uh...thanks for telling them about me.”

“Your brothers?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. Just...it’s nice not to be forgotten.”

“We never forgot you, Emma. I only wish we’d known what had happened. That...that you’d been brought back to the orphanage. I’d have come for you, then. I would have dropped everything.”

“They should have told me you’d been.”

“We left them no details to trace us. Perhaps they were afraid of getting your hopes up.”

Emma’s eyes flashed darkly.

“I’m not saying they were right but...they made a judgement call to protect you. Just as I did when you were born. It was the worst decision I had ever made.”

“Would your mother really have had me killed?”

“I thought so at the time. I was adamant. _Frantic_. No one could talk me down. I’d been on rocky terms with my mother for many years. We barely even had a relationship towards the end, though it pains me to admit that. It had not always been that way.

“When I was small she had been kind. Distant, at times, but gentle. She’d brush my hair on the window seat, sing songs and tell stories. My father - your grandfather - was a politician. Their fondness for each other was a delicate, beautiful thing but, sadly, he died of illness and I think, now, that she never recovered from his loss. 

“A woman of nobility has her life ruled by men. She’d been lucky to marry someone she had grown to love. Most don’t. I think much of her behaviour came from her grief at his loss and from the expectations of an unkind society. She was hassled a lot to remarry by those in her social circle. Was courted for a time. But for one reason or another she stayed alone and it became apparent I was to be her sole heir. I think once she realised there’d be no other children. No other suitors. That’s when the pressure really hit her. She tried to turn me into this perfect vision of a noble’s daughter. Tried to integrate me with the wealthy until I felt more a possession than a person.

“When she found out about David...about my pregnancy…” she shuddered, even now, to recall that look on her mother’s face. “It was like I had destroyed her life. She screamed at me, told me that I’d make the family a laughing stock. That we’d be shunned. Reduced to little more than commoners. She didn’t care at all that David was kind and thoughtful. That I loved him. That I didn’t care about money when I had him. All she saw was a commoner with a dog for a daemon intent on dragging the Blanchard name through the mud. Her ire was so great. But murder of an innocent? No. Truly, if I take a step back and think, I don’t think she would have done that. I think, sadly, your fate would have been much the same if I’d not sent you away. She’d have given you away. Just as I ended up doing.”

Her hands tightened, her shame and grief all consuming.

Emma was watching her carefully, her daemon mirroring the expression. Both of them guarded.

“There’s nothing I can say to fix the years of hurt. I know that, Emma, but I have always loved you and I always hoped you’d come back to us.”

She nodded, turning away and Mary Margaret felt her heart clench with sadness.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Emma offered then, her fingers twisting together.

“From the beginning?” Mary Margaret ventured softly.

“The things that I’ve done…”

“Were they out of spite or hatred? Were they done with any ill intent?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted quietly.

“You’re not a bad person, Emma.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know me. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a proper relationship is with a pirate. What does that tell you, huh?”

“It tells me that he is good for you no matter what he is.”

Emma’s face contorted with something akin to disbelief. “You really do believe in all that true love crap.”

“Yes,” she smiled a quiet smile, “I do.”

\---

Emma shook her head, flicking a chunk of loose mortar down into the well. The hollow sound of it hitting the water rippled against the ache in her chest.

Her initial decision to not open up was coming undone at the seams.

“I was happy for a time, when I was adopted. They were kind to me. Doted on me with attention. They were poor so we didn’t have much, but it was okay. They had been desperate for a child and I was their world. Then, one day, the woman I called ‘Mother’ found out she was pregnant. They were both shocked and, when I was older, I realised it was probably because they had thought they would never be able to conceive a child. 

“Anyway, I was excited at first but as time went on the tension grew palpable. Then she went into labour and gave birth to twins. It was a simple decision, really. They had been worried about affording two children and, when they realised they were to have three, what else could they do? They were hardly going to part with their own children to keep me.”

She hadn’t understood it then. All she had known was the despair of being sent back to the orphanage with her little box and a small bag of clothes. Being unwanted. Replaced. Unlovable. 

Then, as the years went by and she saw, firsthand, the depths of poverty in the places she travelled to, she realised hardship and what it truly meant. Had lived it herself, for a while.

Maybe her adoptive parents hadn’t wanted to part with her, but what else could they have done? They simply didn’t have the means to provide for three children.

“It was hard at the orphanage, seeing all the adults leaving with cooing babies in their arms. So, eventually, I left and headed out to the nearest town, moving on when I got in trouble or when I felt unsafe. I wasn’t the only kid in the same situation. There were orphans. Runaways. Troublemakers who’d been kicked out of the house. We ran as gangs, on occasion. Safer than alone. But you couldn’t trust them, either. Turn your back and they’d steal your meal or your blanket. I made my way inland through Eastern Anglia and eventually ended up getting caught in a bit of trouble. Out of my depth, I suppose. I got myself thrown in jail.”

“Oh, Emma…”

She shrugged, cutting off the sympathy, “it was deserved. It was also the wake up call I needed. When I got out I started doing honest work. Became a bit of an investigator. Did a bit of freelancing for the State Police, doing jobs that they didn’t want to do. Missing kids, hunting down petty thieves. Having lived the life, I was pretty good at looking for tell-tale signs.” 

They had been better years. She’d felt good helping people that would otherwise have gone ignored and whilst the pay was poor it had been enough to keep her off the streets. She’d eventually met Ruby that way, tracking down her wayward cousin. After that she’d become firm friends with the gyptians and the boat-mother, Mrs Lucas, took her under her wing. She’d managed to avoid trouble for a while, until the Magisterium’s dealings started grating on her. Then came more short stays in jail and lashings for speaking out. The gyptians had warned her. Ruby had warned her. She hadn’t listened.

But all Emma said was, “I made some friends then and things were looking up. But I got into a spot of trouble looking into my family and, with a previous record, I didn’t want to risk getting caught. I was given information about Killian and he agreed to help me.”

“For a price,” Mary Margaret grinned.

“For a price,” Emma replied.

“So once you arrived, he decided to join you?”

“Our route here wasn’t direct. It gave us time to nurture a sort of...friendship. He wasn’t what I expected of a pirate. I was curious, at first. Friendship came later.”

“So I take it you’re heading back to his ship once you’re done here? It sounded important whatever it was.”

“It is, yes.”

Mary Margaret gave her a questioning look and Emma gave only a sheepish smile in response. It felt better to get her history off her chest, even if it was a severely cut down, safe version, avoiding all the heartache and pain and loneliness.

“So how big is this ‘spot of trouble’?”

“Uh, potentially pretty big. They put my face on a poster.”

The dark-haired woman’s eyes widened and for a horrible moment Emma thought her greatest fear was about to be realised. That her newly found mother would want to send her away. But they had to know, she’d realised. Had to be prepared in case someone turned up on their doorstep asking questions.

“So, uh, if anyone drops by asking about me, it’d be best to act as if I was never here.” She tightened her lips into a thin line, “I’m serious, okay? I don’t trust them and the last thing I want is for anyone to get hurt because of what I did.”

“We’ll be careful.”

\---

The following days were spent throwing themselves into the farming lifestyle. Even Killian busied himself on the farm - though Emma constantly warned him about putting too much strain on his shoulder. 

He just grinned infuriatingly at her.

Still, she knew he wasn’t good at doing nothing. A life on the sea was an active and busy one, especially for a pirate. You couldn’t let your guard down when you were up on that deck, keeping an eye on the weather. On passing ships. On land. Here, on stable ground, only the clouds scurried past the dramatic landscape of the highlands. Everything else was still; sheep lazily shifting around the fields.

And when she wasn’t aiding on the farm she was spending time with Charlie. The boy was a sweet soul and had a zest for life that she found quite addictive. His daemon, Aredhel, swapped from one form to another dependent on his moods.

When they were off exploring the woods or the slopes of the hills, his daemon seemed to prefer the scottish wildcat form. At the stream she became a frog or a duck, making the most of the babbling shallows. One time they were so startled by the appearance of a huge wild boar that she turned into a bear and bellowed so loudly the ground beneath their feet shook.

More than once, Emma wondered if this is what her son would have been like if she’d kept him. Wondered what his daemon would settle as when he came of age. But she shied away from those thoughts, stamping them down the moment they started to manifest. It was likely that her son wouldn’t have grown up with all this space and freedom. Perhaps a bustling town or hectic city.

But what could she possibly know about that? She’d given up on him. Not trusted in herself to act as guardian to a helpless infant. Was too afraid of failing him.

When Killian came to find her for dinner she both loved and hated him for sensing her mood the moment he met her eyes. He took her hand, wordlessly, and folded her against him. He smelt of sun and earth and sheep.

“They were talking about sending a search party but I thought I should come alone,” he said, his words rumbling beneath her ear.

“Sorry.”

He said nothing in reply, just held her, and she was grateful for the solid, quiet comfort he offered. Eventually, when she felt the bubble of sadness ease up, she pulled him down for a kiss and laughed at Rei’s surprised chirrup.

“Let’s get back else they’ll send the search party anyway.”

Charlie was at the door as they stepped into view, the boy giving them a wave before disappearing inside - likely to tell his parents that they were back. 

The meal, atleast, was welcome after the exhausting day and Emma, not one for holding back at the table, ate everything offered to her. Even eyeing Killian’s plate until he relented and gave her extra.

Rei looked unbelievably amused by her behaviour.

Samiran looked a little embarrassed.

If her newfound family noticed anything, however, they didn’t say, although Emma noticed that - as the first week came to an end - her portions had grown exponentially.

Samiran, however, deemed it embarrassing enough that he brought it up before bed.

“We’re not on the streets anymore, Emma. We’ll be here tomorrow and so will the food.”

“Old habits,” she grumbled.

She knew her daemon was right but the words still hurt her. Back when she was homeless she barely had one decent meal a week. It was hard not to gorge when food was presented to her so readily. Besides, she _had_ been hungry. Spending all day in the fresh air did that to her!

“Don’t be too hard on the lass,” Killian replied, clearly having heard their exchange as he’d entered the room, “the food is good and I happen to find her eating habits rather beguiling.”

“It’s the stray in her,” Rei added, jumping up to join them on the bed, “what’s not to love?”

It was the genuine affection in the black cat’s tone that took Emma by surprise. She’d heard the daemon refer to her as a stray a number of times. It was a strange sort of word. Undertones of bad meaning that was draped heavily in affection. She couldn't find it in herself to be offended.

Killian leaned down to kiss her, smelling delightfully of her floral soap. The kiss lingered longer than perhaps he’d originally intended, her arms looping around his neck until he was crawling over her, pressing her into the mattress to kiss her again, hard and wanting.

He pulled away a few moments later and asked: “how are you doing, Swan?”

She realised it was the first time they’d spoken since the first day when he’d asked her how she was faring.

“Okay,” she replied, “I’m doing okay. They’re good people and Mary Margaret didn’t look too horrified when I told her I’d been thrown in jail a few times.”

He smiled against her mouth as he kissed her again and she relaxed into him.

“She didn’t even seem too horrified about the thought of my face on a wanted poster.”

“Ha! You told her that?”

“Well, I thought I should warn them about potential visitors after we’ve left. I’m worried about getting them into trouble for harbouring a fugitive.”

“Hm,” he hummed softly, “especially one as unforgettably handsome as me.”

“I wasn’t talking about you.” Emma whispered teasingly, trailing her fingers from his jaw and down the smooth line of his neck.

“So how much _did_ you tell her?”

“Just the basics. Nothing of Neal. Nothing of…” she trailed, flicking her eyes to him and felt the relief at his replying nod. He understood. Of course he did. Her hand settled on his chest, over his heart, and she let out a sigh and let her head drop back onto the pillow.

When she looked back at him he looked uncertain. Rei was shifting uneasily beside him.

“Killian? What is it?”

He worried at his bottom lip for a moment and her anxiety flared instantly, filling her chest and tightening her throat until she felt she could barely breathe. Her fingers reflexively tightened in the smooth, thin fabric of his shirt. 

It looked like he wanted to touch her but he was leaning on his right elbow and there was no attachment on the end of his left. After a moment he opted to settle the stump of his shortened limb against her hip.

At last he said: “If you wanted to stay here, you know, I’d understand.”

“Is this a gentle way of trying to get rid of me?” She had meant it to come out as a tease but her voice cracked and the tone sounded small and vulnerable instead.

“What?” he looked shocked, “no, Emma. _Never._ I want you to come with me but I feel selfish, stealing you away from what you have here.”

“You’re not stealing me from anything. I want to help you get your ship back. I want…” _to stay with you_. “I’m like you. I can’t settle in one place for too long.”

He smiled at that, “What about after?”

“After?”

“When we’ve taken back the _Jolly Roger_.”

She blinked, uncertain, the feeling of panic looming again.

“Truth be told, I was rather hoping you’d accept a place on the crew.”

She felt her chest seize. “Do you mean it? You really...want me?”

He sat up then, freeing his hand so that he could reach out and take hers, his thumb rubbing comforting circles against her knuckles.

“Aye. Perhaps I should have been more forward.”

Rei’s scoff confirmed her feelings on the matter.

“I thought you knew,” he pressed on, ignoring his daemon, “I thought you knew what I wanted.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I do. I do know. I just…”

“You need to hear it,” he murmured, drawing her in for another kiss. She tilted her head, pressing back with an urgency, a small sound of protest breaking through as he pulled back.

“Let me _show_ you how much I want you, if that would be more effective.” He arched a brow, the suggestion clear and she pursed her lips in response.

“I don’t know. _Here_?” she gestured around them with her eyes.

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her neck, tongue dipping into the hollow of her throat.

“ _Killian_!” she hissed, pushing gently back against his shoulders.

“What?” he whispered, his voice a low, seductive rumble. “Don’t think you can be quiet?”

“Can you?” she retorted, sounding so full of glee that she knew he’d not be put off in the slightest.

“I’ll take that challenge.”

She crashed her mouth against his in response, her hand slipping unabashed beneath the waistband of his cotton nightwear. He gave a groan of surprise as she grabbed at him.

She caught his gaze and raised both brows in silent reminder.

_Quiet_.

“Two can play at that game, Swan,” he replied, breathy and lusty against her ear.

\---

The following morning, Emma’s sheepish appearance for breakfast was met the same as it always had been. Mary Margaret was singing, tuneful and beautiful as she prepared the hearty breakfast of cold meat and bread and eggs with a side helping of oats and fruit.

Her robin-daemon was singing, too.

Emma would, perhaps, miss the breakfasts most of all.

“The milk and honey is already on the table. Porridge is on the stove,” the woman called without even turning to look.

Killian was already seated at the table sneaking a generous helping of honey and dried fruit into Charlie’s already well supplied bowl. The boy was giggling with sneaky delight, his daemon a creeping fieldmouse.

Mary Margaret cast a suspicious look over her shoulder and was met with two exaggerated innocent faces.

“I don’t know which of the two of them is worse,” the dark-haired woman said as Emma came to join her in the kitchen, ladling porridge into a bowl.

“Definitely Killian. He’s old enough to know better,” Emma replied.

“Toast?”

“Please.”

“I shouldn’t need to ask by now, should I?” Mary Margaret replied warmly.

“I, uh, don’t really turn down food.”

The woman busied herself for a moment, giving Emma some of everything before she joined Killian and Charlie at the table. Charlie’s daemon was a black cat now, clearly attempting to mimic the noble beauty of Sereia.

“Are David and James already out?”

Charlie spoke through his mouthful, ”yeah, there’s lambs. You want to see?”

“Sure kid, but only after I’ve eaten.”

Mary Margaret came to join them at the table then, the conversation light and easy. Killian’s mood seemed good, too, laughing and joking and charming his way into Mary Margaret’s good books. He was a personable sort. An easy man to like, she realised. Charlie seemed taken, too, his daemon paying rapt attention to Sereia’s lessons on being a cat; their quiet chatter bubbling in the background.

After breakfast, Mary Margaret showed them to the huge barns where some of the lambs were being kept alongside their mothers. The tiny things, so new to the world, wobbled on their unpractised limbs. Their mothers, however, were tough looking beasts with curved horns, black faces and stocky black legs.

Charlie’s daemon became a bouncing lamb and skipped across the hay.

James was already there, leaning against the fence that separated the mothers and lambs into smaller groups, His daemon, a mostly black border collie, lay calmly at his heels, watching over the sheep with the eyes of a protector.

“How are they doing?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Fine,” he replied. “Only had two that needed assistance so far.”

Mary Margaret put her arm around James’ middle and gave him a gentle squeeze.

Emma felt that same squeeze in her chest.

These people were her family. Her _family_.

She moved forwards to join them, leaning against the rail on James’ other side. Their eyes locked, their slight grins near mirrored.

\---

“So, what happened to your hand?” Charlie asked at dinner.

Somehow it seemed strange that it hadn’t come up before. What with kids and their tendency to ask whatever was on their minds. Emma could only fathom that perhaps the boy just felt more comfortable around the pirate to ask, now.

“Charlie!” David warned.

“What?” the boy blinked, “I was only asking. Killian doesn’t mind.”

Emma tried to hide her smile by piling more food into her mouth - almost resulting in choking herself. Sam sighed, butting his head not-so-gently against her leg.

“It’s not considered good manners,” Mary Margaret admonished, passing James a bowl of salad topped with slices of radish that had quickly become one of Emma’s newest food obsessions.

Charlie made a face but Killian just laughed.

“It’s quite alright, lad.” His eyes darted to meet Emma’s and she could see the silent question in them. Trusting him to censor appropriately she just gave him a shrug and a smile.

“It’s a dangerous life out on sea at the best of times,” he started. “I made a few bad decisions, got myself into a bit of a predicament up on deck during a storm and there was no one around to help out. By the time someone came by, there was nothing to be done,” he made a slicing sound, “had to get it cut clean off.”

Charlie’s eyes boggled. “Did it hurt? Was there lots of blood?”

“Aye, lad, just a bit.” Killian was still smiling but Emma could see the shadow behind it.

“Did you cry?”

The pirate nodded, “like a baby.”

“You said you were out at sea? Were you a sailor?”

“Still am,” he declared, drawing himself up proudly.

“Where’s your boat now?”

“ _Ship_ ,” he corrected, his smile brightening again. “She’s a wayward beauty, to be sure, but I’ll be catching up with her soon enough.”

“I wish I could go. I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

David shut the idea down so quickly that Emma guessed he was either being extremely protective or that Mary Margaret had told him of Killian’s ‘profession’. Maybe it was both.

Still, it didn’t dampen Killian’s enthusiasm and the rest of the meal was spent discussing the beauty and outmatched speed of his ship.

\---

Even with spring encroaching, this far north there wasn’t much light left after the table had been cleared and she spent much of that in front of the fire before retiring to their borrowed room. She was naked, bar a towel, when Killian came to join her, his fingers teasing at the opening of the heavy material the moment the door closed behind them.

“What do you say, Swan? Fancy upping the ante of last night?”

“It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. We’re not the only ones awake.”

She let him kiss her before turning him towards the bed and sprawling in his lap.

“Go keep watch at the door, Rei.” he murmured.

The black cat moved dutifully and settled down, turning an ear to the landing beyond. After a moment Sam moved to join her.

“You miss your ship,” Emma said unprompted.

“I do. But we won’t be apart much longer. Teach has the knowledge to captain her but he doesn’t have the personality. She’ll be ours again soon enough.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

_Ours_.

“Was Charlie okay today? Asking those questions, I mean.”

“He’s just curious. No harm done. I decided it was better not to tell him that it had been removed by a high-ranking official.”

She smiled, “probably for the best. I’m not sure David would have been able to cope.”

He grinned.

And the words were on her tongue again; so naturally that she was more surprised that she was able to contain them. _I love you. I love you. I love you._

He was looking at her so intensely that she wondered whether he might have heard the declaration anyway. Wondered whether it was there to read in her eyes.

He pulled her down to press a kiss on her forehead, another on the apple of her cheek, another on the corner of her parted mouth. She stilled him gently.

“I’ll let you up the ante but only on one condition.”

He jutted his chin in response.

“I want you as bare as I am,” and she let her hand settle on the wrappings on his left arm, making her meaning known.

It took him a long time to respond but finally, he complied with a whispered: “if you insist.”

She smiled softly at him as she pushed him back against the pillows, wriggling her hips against his as she unfastened the buttons of his shirt, divesting him of his clothing with slow intent. His eyes were dark and heavy on her as she paused to run her fingers against his healing shoulder, pressing a kiss to the wound. Eventually she pulled him forwards, throwing the shirt to one side before focusing her attention on his bandaged arm, untucking it from just below his elbow and unwinding it carefully. Slowly.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” she replied, pulling the last of the wrap free and setting it carefully to one side. Then she returned her touch to the newly exposed skin, soft and pale beneath her querying fingers, smoothing down the corded muscles to the scars at his wrist.

His right hand came up, cradling her face, so overcome that he couldn’t seem to speak.

So Sereia spoke for him, hushed words of endearment spoken to Samiran by the door. She felt the echoes of them bloom in her chest as she lowered herself to kiss him gently on the mouth, on the stubble of his jaw, down his throat, across the smooth ridge of his collarbone, finally releasing his arm to pull at his waistband, growing frustrated with how difficult he was to undress - though that was soon forgotten when he was bared before her, submitting to her whims.

He groaned in warning but she paid it no heed and he did little to dissuade her; his fingers threading up into her hair. 

She smiled as the last of his resistance dropped away and gave him a look that clearly said she intended on challenging his control.

“You still paying attention, Rei?” he asked, voice tense but soft.

“What do you take me for?” The cat scoffed, “of course I am. The coast is clear.”

Emma just smiled, drew herself in close and gave him a look that was something akin to predatory.

“Well,” Sereia spoke up a little while later, when the pair of them were wrapped in a loose embrace, “if that went undetected I’ll be mightily surprised.”

“What are you talking about, love?”

His daemon scoffed, “what happened to being quiet?”

“What happened to keeping watch?”

“I _was_ keeping watch, for all the difference that made.” She gave another huff and turned her back.

Killian gave a sigh and Emma turned her head to meet his gaze, laughter in her eyes.

“We weren’t quiet?” he asked.

Emma shrugged, “she’s got cat senses. It’ll be fine.”

\---

The following morning they caught David just before he was due to head out, James close behind him. Their dog daemons were lying by the door, side by side, ready for a day spent with the sheep.

“Good morning,” Mary Margaret chirped. “How did you both sleep?”

“I think the whole house knows how well they slept,” David replied, glowering a little as he pulled on his boots.

“David!” Mary Margaret squeaked, embarrassed.

“Dad,” James started a warning, grabbing his father’s coat from the hook and shoving it at his chest before herding him towards the door. Their daemons leapt up onto eager paws.

“See you for lunch,” Mary Margaret called.

“Yep.” David replied, sounding gruff.

“Later,” James thrust up a hand in farewell before stalking after his father.

Everyone heard Sereia’s unabashed: “told you so,” as she slunk past their legs and headed for the dining table.

“I am so sorry,” Mary Margaret flustered, looking more embarrassed than both Emma and Killian at that moment. “Please don’t pay any mind to David. He’s a bit of a stickler about those sorts of things.”

“We’ll, uh, be more careful in future.” Emma replied through her teeth.

“Next time? I don't know, love. I reckon if it happened again he’d have me lynched.”

Emma laughed and gave his arm a squeeze.

\---

Despite the awkwardness of the morning, Emma joined David and James after lunch. It felt like the right thing to do considering they couldn’t currently slack off from work and she’d not spent much time with them since arriving. Her father had probably only heard her stories secondhand through Mary Margaret and she imagined how hard that must be.

Willa and Naerith, the dog-daemons, led the way back out across the fields, stretching the boundaries between human and daemon a little more than perhaps Emma would have dared.

“Just a little bit of advice,” James said under his breath, “if you want some privacy there’s the small barn just down in the valley. There’s some old naphtha lamps if it’s dark.”

Emma blinked, surprised.

He just gave her a serious look, mouth pressed into a thin line, “dad has always been a nightmare when it came to us having girls over. He caught me in the house once and raged about it for days. He’s a total prude for someone who had kids so young.”

Emma was surprised, firstly at the lack of embarrassment of talking about sex around the little brother she barely knew and secondly, that he’d decided to share potentially useful information. It felt good. Like they were on the same team. Easy camaraderie.

“So, you have someone special?”

“Not so much,” his smile turned sly.

“Ah, it’s like that, then.” She gave him an amused smile. Maybe that’s why David had been so grumpy, if James had taken to becoming a bit of a ladies man.

“Hey, I’m too young to settle down.”

“Sure, sure,” Emma replied, “I’m not here to judge. Thanks for the advise.”

He shrugged.

Naerith, his border collie daemon, looked over her shoulder and gave a short bark, putting an end to their conversation. They hurried to catch up with David who was walking briskly down the slope into the valley where the vast majority of their herd were grazing.

“We’ll check the ewes,” David called out and James drifted out towards the sheep to cast a critical eye over their condition. Emma jogged up to join David, Samiran bounding through the long tufts of grass that hissed softly in the wind. The sky above was blue, but the clouds seemed to promise rain before the day was out.

“What are we looking for?” Emma asked conversationally as she caught up with David.

“Anything out of the ordinary. Signs of labour. Signs of illness. Signs of distress.”

“There’s lots of lambs here already,” Emma continued, watching them skip together in the long grass.

“Most of the ewes give birth outside. Only the more complicated cases get moved into the barns. We’ve had a pretty smooth running this year, though perhaps less multiple births than we would have liked. Still, it’s only just the start of the season and there’s plenty more to come.”

It boggled Emma’s mind. The expanse of the land. The size of the flock. She wasn’t sure she could imagine herself up here, playing the shepherd day in and day out. Knew that, even if she had grown up with her family, her daemon would never have been a sheepdog.

Willa, David’s daemon, who had been pacing back and forth at the edge of the herd gave a small yip, her voice coming across loud and confident. “There’s one, David. By the hedgerow.”

“James has spotted her, already, by the look of it.”

Willa barked and, after a few moments, Naerith returned it.

Emma noted they also had two other sheepdogs reclining on the slope above the herd, both border collies, though not as large and fine as James’ daemon. It made sense they’d have non-daemon sheepdogs to tend to the flock; could have them run as far and wide as they needed.

“Is she giving birth?” Emma asked.

“I reckon so. They do tend to stray a little from the herd when it's their time.” She heard his soft sigh and risked a glance at him. “I’m so sorry that I’ve not been able to spend much time with you.”

She shook her head, “listen, it’s fine. You’ve got your livelihood to attend to and I had poor timing, coming here at your busiest season. If you can’t stay with us, then I’ll come spend more time here with you, if you’d like?”

He smiled, his face extraordinarily happy. “I’d like that very much.”

Emma’s mother could be described as a genuine sweetheart. As bright and cheerful as her robin daemon with his vibrant red chest and tuneful song. David, certainly, had a companionable sort of personality and an easygoing nature - though she could tell that he also had a fierceness to him. Or protectiveness, maybe. He watched over his little flock of a family just as his daemon watched over the sheep.

“So,” he interrupted her musing, “you and the pirate, huh?”

She flushed, “Oh, yeah, so...Mary Margaret told you about that.”

“She did. I know it’s not my place, Emma, but...are you sure you know what you’re doing with him? Pirates don’t have the best reputation and...I can’t imagine their life expectancy is all that great, either.”

“You don’t know him,” she sounded defensive, “if you did, you wouldn’t question it.”

David blinked, not looking convinced.

“And if the ship sinks or something then…” she shrugged, “well, he’s a survivor.” It was perhaps the first time she’d truly considered the risks of a life on sea, let alone that of a pirate. It was better not to focus on the ‘what-ifs’ too much. She hardly needed to be more freaked out about her growing dependency on him.

“Listen, for what it’s worth, he seems a personable guy.”

“He is,” Emma replied.

Across from them, James’ daemon barked and David gave her a nudge with his elbow.

“Sounds like the ewe’s just given birth if you want to go see.”

They moved to join James a moment later just as the ewe was delivering her second little lamb. A twin birth out in the wilds of Scotland. And the ewe was handling it marvelously, back on her feet and nursing in no time - quite unlike the wreck she had been when she had birthed her squalling little son all those years ago.

She said as much to Killian later in the dark cocoon of their room.

“You were all alone, Swan, and barely an adult,” he soothed.

And again, Emma thought of that little baby she had birthed and refused to hold. The one she had sent away; to be gifted into the arms of someone more deserving and capable than she.

“Did Sam name the babe’s daemon?”

She nodded against him.

Killian asked for no further information, just held her tighter, and eventually - after some long minutes - she volunteered it of her own accord.

“He named her Felicity. For happiness and good fortune.”

Sam mewled softly, curling his head up underneath her chin and she rubbed her fingers into the fur at his shoulders.

“That’s a fine name,” Killian replied.

She sighed, long and world-weary.

“Tell me what I can do, Swan.”

She didn’t reply (mostly because there was no response to his request) and, when he started to speak again, she hushed him, resting a finger across his lips. 

“There’s nothing anyone can do,” she said at last, kissing him softly.

And she kept kissing him until the sad ache in her chest was soothed by the heat of his closeness - not daring for more in case she ended up on the receiving end of another of David’s lectures.

\---

Killian could tell that Emma was torn. 

She’d been unusually quiet the last few days of their stay, seeming to take more of a back seat during family conversations, letting the atmosphere soak into her bones. Spending more and more time out in the fields with David. A part of him still expected her to change her mind and tell him that she couldn’t leave.

He’d even tried to prepare himself for it. Went through the scenario in his head over and over again until he had his response memorised. What he would say. What he would do. He’d kiss her gently, hold her close, look her in the eye and tell her that it was fine. That he understood. That if he had found lost family he’d have been hard pressed to leave them, too.

That she deserved happiness even if that meant not being at his side.

He had gone over it again that morning, preparing to bite down his emotional response. To put her feelings over his.

“You’re worrying for nothing,” Sereia had continued to reassure him, “she said she would come.”

“Well if she doesn’t, I’m stealing her soap,” he retorted sharply, deflecting.

Sereia gave him one of her long-suffering looks and, after a moment, pulled herself up into his lap, rubbing against his chest.

“Ah, love,” Killian sighed, “even if she does want to come, it feels wrong to take her from this. From people who love her. From safety and security.”

“She can always visit.”

Killian looked far from convinced.

“She’s _ours_ ,” Sereia stressed.

And later, Emma had taken to glaring at him reproachfully.

He’d mouthed ‘what’? in response and almost shrunk back as she stomped over to join him.

“Stop looking at me like that. If you think you’re leaving here without me then you’ve got another thing coming. I’m with you in this. I miss your ship, too. She needs to be back with a captain who knows her.”

He believed her. He truly did.

But even as they stood at the doorway preparing their goodbyes to her little family, he couldn’t help but wonder whether she was making the right decision.

“Swan, it’s not too late to…”

She looked at him so hard and angry that he stopped; snapping his jaw shut. Too late did he see her thoughts taking a downwards turn and he hastened to clutch at her hand.

“Do you want me or not?” She snarled.

“I want you with me, Emma,” he cut in quickly, “more than anything. I just…this is your family.”

“Killian, even if we weren’t going on this quest to rescue the _Jolly Roger_ , I’d be coming with you. My family is here, yes, but this place isn’t home. My home is…” she faltered, looking panicked, and he smoothed his fingers gently against her knuckles.

He looked at her knowingly, understanding her fear and wishing there was something he could do to remedy it.

He tugged her against him, nudging his nose fondly against hers, his mouth lingering close, his hips tilted until they bumped briefly, playfully against hers.

“Swan…” she was ready to hear it. He was certain. So why not now with her family buzzing just out of sight?

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Never doubt that you are wanted, Emma. I...”

“Please don’t go! Why do you have to go?” Charlie interrupted, his daemon bounding at his heels in puppy form. “No one else will say it but we don’t want you to leave. Leo will be back soon and he’d love to meet you. His daemon can be a little intimidating but she’s sweet really. She just _pretends_ to be strict.”

Killian fell silent and took a step back, hovering in the doorway to watch the scene unfold. 

Emma knelt and brought the boy into her arms, his scruffy hair looking windswept before he’d even stepped outside. His daemon whimpered sadly as Samiran stepped to comfort her, licking the fur atop her head with a rough tongue. Sereia moved to join in the farewell, too, gently nudging at the pup with her nose. 

Charlie’s daemon, however, did not seem much comforted, his ears low and tail drooping. 

“I promise you, Charlie, I’ll be back again as soon as I can. And when I am, I’ll have lots of stories to share, okay? Who knows? Maybe Aredhel will have settled by then.” 

Killian wondered what she planned to tell the boy. That they’d gone to take back their ship from a whole load of unworthy pirates? He wasn’t sure Mary Margaret or David would be pleased. 

“I don’t want her to,” Charlie insisted, “it’s good to be able to change." 

His response was typical for a child his age. He remembered it well, Sereia flitting from one shape to the next, sometimes to depict a mood, other times just for fun. When they lived out by the sea, Sereia had found joy in the shape of sea birds, even occasionally taking on the form of a sea eagle when she was at her most daring. As he grew older, she started to favour more cunning creatures like the weasel or raven. The cat form had followed not long after, when they had moved inland and spent more time sneaking down darkened streets; her improved night vision a useful trait. 

Now, though, he couldn’t imagine Sereia to be anything other than the sleek feline she had settled as. A cat she was, but certainly no ordinary cat. 

“I’ll miss you, Charlie. All of you.” Emma was saying. 

The boy scrubbed a hand at his ruddy face and nodded, still looking unhappy. Killian forced away a pang of guilt. 

Her parents came to join them next, taking in turns to embrace their newfound daughter. Mary Margaret looked as if she wasn’t planning on letting go, at least until Davd’s gentle hand settled on her shoulder. There were tears and more embraces and promises, finishing with Emma stressing the need for secrecy to them, again. 

The daemons huddled around each other, talking quietly, murmuring soft farewells. 

And then James shouldered through to embrace his sister, looking a little awkward but a touch sad, too. 

Mary Margaret clearly took that as a sign to bid farewell to the pirate, refusing anything less than a hug. Killian acquiesced, the woman’s grip around him surprisingly tight. A warning there, perhaps. 

When she drew away, her hazel eyes were fixed on him, her face serious, “take care of her, okay? Don’t let them catch her. Just… just keep her safe.” 

“I’ll keep her safe,” he clarified. 

Only then did Mary Margaret ease up, offering him a smile, “Emma’s right. You are a good man.” 

He flustered a moment and then; “wait, she said that? What else did she say?” 

“Oh, not much,” the woman teased, throwing him a knowing smile. 

And then Emma was there, looking red-eyed and emotional and after a few last goodbyes and well wishes (David giving him a firm handshake, which Killian assumed was _his_ version of a silent warning) they departed. 

Charlie’s daemon became a wolf; her sad howls haunting the hills around them. 

And the sloping beauty of the highlands enveloped them as they descended back down into the valleys and Killian, with a sidelong glance, offered Emma a sheepish smile as her eyes narrowed knowingly. 

"We’ll see them again,” she returned, “but right now, I’m where I want to be.” She stepped into him, looped her arm through his and squeezed it to her side, her head resting against his shoulder. 


	9. Chapter 9

The journey would have been quicker if they had taken the train but, in the end, both decided it was safer to keep off of public transport and save funds. 

Neither of them had any idea how wide the search for Emma had spread, though a quick scout in any of the towns they passed showed no posters bearing her image.

Emma had considered cutting and dying her hair to make her less conspicuous but Killian had balked at the idea, insisting that if there were no posters that she’d be relatively safe. With the temperatures still cool - particularly this far north - she could get away with tucking most of her hair out of sight beneath her woollen hat or tucking it down inside her jacket.

“It does make me worry,” she replied, “the reward money was substantial. Would it really not have been advertised outside of the city?”

“It’s a tricky one,” Killian replied, “they may not want to advertise too widely in this case. The crime committed is embarrassing - damaging to their reputation. So long as we steer clear of local police, we should be fine.”

“I worry,” she replied somberly, “that I’m too much trouble.”

“For me?”

“For you,” she confirmed.

“Ah, Swan, I’m a pirate. I can handle trouble, particularly of your variety.”

“I suppose you would know,” she shot back, her tone teasing.

Evenings were spent talking over plans of attack, practising at swordplay and discussing the finer points of piracy.

“So, why bother with swords at all?” Emma asked, aware of his eyes on her, scrutinising. He stepped towards her, using his boot against hers to widen her stance. She complied, trying not to notice the warmth of his hands as he corrected her grip on the shortsword she held aloft.

“Pirates tend to fight in close quarters. Pistols have their uses, for sure, but they take time to load and most only carry one shot. If you’re getting swarmed, you’ll take out the first but get beaten down by the next. Those sorts of weapons and ammunition also come with hefty price tags. Most of our weapons are stolen for that very reason.”

She nodded, swinging the shortsword out in front of her, her stance lower now with the change in position. She didn’t really feel like she was making much progress but he insisted that it was time well spent. Strengthening muscles that would otherwise not have had much use. She was already familiar with using a pistol, at least, though neither of them had one on their person. And with weapons being expensive, she could already guess at how he thought to acquire such things. They would certainly need them when facing off against Teach.

A couple of days later found them in a market town that looked, at least on first impression, to be doing rather well for itself. Set back against the prettiness of the town was a seemingly booming brewing industry; ugly, stinking buildings overshadowing the quaintness of the timber and stone houses. It seemed to be a small price to pay, however, as the local people seemed surprisingly affluent, reflected in the huge market full of delicacies.

It was here that Emma watched her pirate turning on the charm. Watched the carefully practised body language draw tittering, wealthy saleswomen out of their shells. 

It was intriguing, she realised, to have this outside glimpse of how others viewed him. This suave man with a dangerous air and a wit as sharp as his sword. It reminded her that, yes, he was a gentleman but he was also a pirate, too. Bartering and charming and ruthless in his negotiations.

He didn’t succeed with all of them, in truth, but most were suitably captivated by the act. Drawn into conversation. Enamoured by his silken words.

Sereia seemed to enjoy it, too. Drawing into the other daemons’ personal space as she complimented them in her honeyed tones.

And his efforts were not in vain, earning them free samples of produce and hefty discounts. A few times she had even used the distraction to raid their coffers - though after the third successful attempt she decided to call it quits whilst she was ahead.

Later that evening they holed themselves up at a secluded, rural inn, Emma’s rucksack upturned, their spoils strewn across the sheets.

“More money than sense, those lasses,” Killian grinned.

“Well, at least your endeavours were not ill gotten,” she replied, sorting through the few coins that she had pilfered when admiring eyes had been on him instead.

“I wonder how long you’ll keep pretending that you were not made for piracy, Swan.”

“Hm? I think I might make a better pirate than you.”

He laughed, not disagreeing.

“Do you think we’ll have enough?”

“We’ll make it work one way or another. I’ve been in tighter spots.”

She nodded softly.

“Here, pass me that pouch of yours, Swan. We’ll keep the jewellery all together. It’ll protect it a little better, at least.”

Sam fetched the pouch and she took it from his teeth, attempting to untie the thick, golden cord. The knot had been pulled tight and she growled in frustration as her fingernails failed to find purchase.

“Use your teeth,” Killian smirked, “I usually find that works.”

She shot him a look which he returned flirtatiously.

She used her teeth anyway, more annoyed when it worked and she was able to undo the knot.

“You remember what’s what?” He asked.

“What’s in that bag already can be used for the cause, too. There’s not much left and I can get more if need be. They’re not mine, anyway.” Just things she’d stolen from people. But, hey, needs must.

“That’s not true.”

“Hm?” she realised, a second too late, what he meant. Instinctively wanted to reach for the bag already in his hand. To snatch it away before he had a chance to realise the pendant he was talking about was no longer there. Was probably settled over the bosom of a highborn lady who’d purchased it from a shady doctor.

Perhaps he wouldn’t look.

But the thought was barely formed in her mind before he had tipped out the meagre contents of the pouch - just three pieces left now after she’d cashed some in to fund food or clothes or other necessities. She felt her heart seize, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down so hard she was sure she’d taste blood.

He didn’t say anything, just looked up at her, his eyes so intense she could feel them piercing into her.

“Swan?” his voice was soft.

“I...I misplaced it, way back…” she was ruffling her fingers up into her slightly disheveled hair, twisting them until they caught in the tangles and stuck fast.

He crooked a brow and she stammered a moment.

Samiran was giving her a side-eyed look of disbelief.

Sereia was staring with her beautiful eyes, poised, sleek and strangely intimidating.

“Well, it was sort of yours anyway.” She continued, changing tack. “You agreed to ferry me on your ship. I didn’t want it returned. Some of your crew already knew what I was really worth. That pendant was nothing in comparison and…” she shrugged, hating how she rambled, “you basically saved my life so, it only seemed fair.”

She paused, sucked in a deep breath and then said: “I used it to pay the doctor to fix your...” she waved haphazardly at her left shoulder.

His eyes widened as he finally understood what she had done.

Sereia purred, the sound loud and rumbling.

“It was yours anyway,” she said hastily, realising too late that she was repeating herself.

“No, love. It was yours. You shouldn’t have…”

Sereia growled at him. A warning.

“Would you have ever told me?”

She shrugged, embarrassed, “I didn’t think it mattered. You returned it so it could be of use and it was. It paid for your life, Killian,” her voice was a nervous whisper, reflecting how big a deal this was.

“It’s a huge deal, my love,” he replied, his eyes still big and full of wonder.

And then Sereia was pouncing at Samiran, the pair of them tumbling playfully across the floor until Sereia gripped at him, posessively.

Killian, seemingly more restrained, leaned across the bed and kissed her, drawing her in with an open mouth and a tentative hand on her cheek. 

She grabbed at his shoulders, dragging him closer until he was looming over her and kissed him with everything she had, shuddering at his barely suppressed groan.

He drew back a little, gazing down at her, breathless. “I know what you’re doing.”

She turned her eyes up to him. Coy. But could he blame her? The emotion was too heavy. Too hot to handle.

“Thank you,” he replied quietly. Then he kissed her again, gently, levering her beneath him and settling his weight on his left elbow so that he was free to touch her.

Instinctively her hand went to his shoulder, squeezing it gently, worried that he’d undo all the good he’d been doing. He didn’t need a setback to his health now. Not when they were so close to regrouping.

“It’s fine, love,” he assured her, kissing her again with practised ease.

With a muffled sound of pleasure she hiked a leg up over his waist, pinning his hips more firmly to hers and despaired at how both of them were still very much clothed.

“So, you weren’t happy to have your possession returned,” he continued, touching her cheek, lowering his head to nuzzle and nip at her throat.

“I was pretty annoyed,” she muttered, the sound clipped off by a surprised little squeak as he bit at the skin where her neck met her shoulder.

“That I’d returned it?”

“It was payment. You’d earned it.”

He laughed, kissing the soft skin behind her ear. Her fingers lurched to his hair, holding tight.

“Perhaps I’d decided that your company was payment enough,” he kissed her again, though she stiffened a little with his response. He seemed to realise how she’d taken his words a moment later when he drew up to meet her eye.

She almost felt too scared to meet them but he held her fast.

“Is it really so hard to believe I meant it as a kindness? That I cared for you?”

“Cared?” past tense.

He growled, “bloody hell, Swan. And here I was thinking I was good with words.”

She wanted to shrink back into the blankets but he was steeling himself again, expelling a long breath, his eyes back to hers. 

“‘Cared’ isn’t the word I’d use now. It’s a damn sight more than ‘care’.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, leaning in to whisper: “but you know that, don’t you? You must know.”

Her heart gave a pained twist in her chest and for a moment she was utterly speechless. Utterly afraid.

“I won’t say it because you’re not ready to hear it yet. But you’ve got to know, I’ve been wanting to say it for a long time.”

And then as if he hadn’t said something monumentous, he went back to kissing her neck, her shoulder.

It was only occasionally that Emma noticed the moments when he seemed to wish for both hands instead of just the one. Times when he seemed undecided where to touch first. Her hip, her neck, her face. Eventually it settled around her, pulling her close and she wiggled against him impatiently.

“Clothes,” the word sounded strained and it took him a moment to respond.

“Right,” he seemed dazed - as if she’d just woken him from deep sleep - and she laughed, joyfully taking control of the situation. Pleased that he was content to let her.

Afterwards, he lay draped lifelessly across her, his head over her heart and his eyes closed. She relished in the warm weight of him, stroking the hair out of his eyes and allowed herself to wallow in the soft contentment.

“Well that was…” his voice sounded thick.

“Yeah,” was all she said in response. 

They lay there, quietly, until he eventually lifted his head and peered around, “our ill-gotten gains have been knocked everywhere, Swan.”

“Just leave them,” she replied, pulling him in for another kiss, delighting in the warm ease of it, never wanting it to end. The light was fading fast now, just a thin strip of grey coming in through the curtains, but sleep seemed too much of a waste when their lazy nights together were fast coming to an end. 

\---

The following morning, freshly bathed and ridiculously content, Emma packed her worldly possessions back into her rucksack. Everything but the stolen paperwork - that had been tossed into the embers of a campfire a few days prior.

Killian travelled in a similarly light fashion and once, when she’d asked about it, he told her he didn’t have much in the way of possessions either. Mostly maps and rum - all of which were back at the _Jolly Roger_.

Samiran and Sereia were cuddled up together by the door - both of whom looked up when Killian emerged from tidying himself up; hair artfully mussed, facial hair trimmed. He shrugged into his ostentatious coat that he wore over everyday sort of clothes.

She’d asked him, a few times, whether it was wise to wear his coat to which he had said that it was too heavy to carry and that it looked too good on him to leave behind.

Emma couldn’t disagree.

She kissed him, eyes dancing as she playfully rifled her fingers through his hair.

He smacked her hands away and returned the kiss, walking her backwards with an eagerness that she had not expected considering the night they had just indulged in.

“Are we really doing that now?” Rei helpfully scolded.

Killian shot his daemon an almost pleading look.

“We’re losing time,” she warned, though she had shifted her weight so that she was leaning heavily against the jaguarundi.

“Let’s get going,” Emma interrupted, stepping towards the door so that their daemons had to spring apart to make way for her.

“We can bypass Manchester and follow the canals down to the west. We’re making good time. We’ll likely reach Scarlet before Robin does.”

Emma agreed.

“Listen, if you’d rather stay out of the fighting, I’d understand.”

“No way.” Emma snapped, “I’m not going to be sidelined after all we’ve been through. Besides, if you want me to join your crew then I have to prove my worth. I don’t want to be viewed as a drain on resources. They need to see me fight and take risks. I need to earn my place and their respect.”

The look he gave her left her feeling giddy.

“You are...something else, love.”

They walked all morning, leaving the towpath to stop off in a neighbouring town for lunch and to catch up on any local gossip that might prove useful. 

There was a _lot_ of gossip, but nothing of any real use. And then, out of the blue, someone called her name. She didn’t answer immediately, too afraid to react in case it gave her away. Killian had tensed beside her, his hand reaching into the folds of his coat where his shortsword rested just out of sight.

People were giving cursory looks to who had called but no one seemed bothered by it.

Her name wasn’t exactly unusual, either.

And then suddenly there was the sound of feet and paws and Emma span just in time to be nearly bowled over by a woman of similar age.

“Emma!” the woman said in hushed excitement, “sorry, I tried not to be too loud.”

Killian was still tense at her side, ready to pounce.

“Ruby?” Emma sputtered, “Ruby!”

And the girls embraced, the length and warmth of it akin to long lost sisters. Which they were, Emma supposed. Ruby was the closest thing she had to a sister, after all, and she had never expected to see her again after that terrible night she’d had to escape.

“I can’t believe I’ve run into you. What are you doing still in Brytain? I expected you to be halfway across the world by now.”

“I couldn’t leave without seeing it all through. My answers, as it turned out, were on this island.”

“Still, are you sure it’s safe to be wandering about like this?”

“We’re being as careful as we can.”

“We?” And the woman turned sharply, as if only noticing Killian for the first time. Her dark, fierce eyes were suspicious at first and then, once she’d looked him up and down, they shifted into something mischievous, provocative.

Slowly, Killian withdrew his hand from his coat and straightened.

“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” Ruby whipped her head around to look at Emma, her grin more wolfish than her daemon’s. “Where did you pick up this fine specimen? Is he? Are you…?”

“Ruby!” Emma felt her face flame. At her feet Samiran hissed softly as the wolf-daemon panted in amusement.

Seeming to have gotten her answer, she was whirling back to Killian, her face utterly predatory.

Emma might have laughed at how her usually confident pirate was momentarily displaced by Ruby’s brazenness. The woman was a force to be reckoned with, fierce and passionate and held nothing back. Emma loved her for it...well, when it wasn’t embarrassing her.

“Oh, Ems, he’s certainly your type.” She was licking her lips, “he looks delightfully sinful.”

“That I am, lass - on both counts,” he’d clearly gotten over his initial surprise, “Killian Jones, at your service.”

Ruby grinned, all teeth.

Emma rolled her eyes and stepped in closer, “are you moored up nearby?”

“Sure are. We’re not certain how long we’re going to be moored, though. Stuff’s been happening. Not sure if you’ve been keeping up with any news. You should drop by if you’re not in a rush. Granny would love to see you.”

Emma hesitated, eventually flicking her eyes up questioningly to Killian’s. He was looking at her with fond amusement, Sereia perched neatly on his shoulders. 

“Do we have time?” she asked.

“These are your friends, Swan?”

“This is Ruby. I told you about her, right? How she helped me escape when the police were trying to track me down?”

“Aye, you did.”

“We never would have met if it weren’t for her. She told me to get passage on your ship. That’s why I was asking for you at all those inns.”

“I’m sorry. What?!” Ruby’s eyes had blown wide, “ _your_ ship? You’re the infamous Captain Hook?”

Killian looked a little sheepish, “maybe...try to keep that on the downlow?”

“Emma’s sleeping with--” Ruby slapped a hand over her own mouth as if she didn’t trust herself to be able to stay quiet and, without a word, she grabbed Emma with bruising force and all but dragged her down the footpath to the canal. 

She heard Killian give an amused laugh and trusted that he would follow.

\---

Ruby was still casting Emma shocked glances as they descended the stone steps that took them down to the towpath. Emma chose to ignore them, casting her eyes down to the dark stretch of water where row upon row of gyptian boats were moored. At this time of day it was relatively quiet. The men out on business. The younger gyptians away causing chaos with the local children. Only a few - mostly women - milled around, chatting and prepping food out in the open.

The grassy bank jutting up at their right was alive with daisies and dandelions attracting the delightful buzz of insects. The seasons were changing with the promise of longer days and the sweet kiss of the sun.

She spotted Granny’s boat before Ruby even had a chance to point it out. The smooth clean lines of the barge topped with a row of flowers, set about with rickety wooden chairs. The boat-mother’s dog-daemon was bathing in the sun.

Mrs Lucas was settled in a chair of her own, looking at a newspaper. And, right until the moment she noticed Ruby, she was grumbling and swatting at an insistent fly.

“What are you doing back so soon, girlie?” 

“Granny! You never guess who I just bumped into?”

The grey-haired woman blinked over the top of her glasses and then, startled, leapt to her feet with a swiftness that belied her age.

“Emma? It never is our Emma!”

And before Emma could really contemplate it, the older woman was leaping from the barge and bustling towards her, throwing her arms around her in a fierce hug. The elderly woman’s strength sent a bolt of homesickness straight to Emma’s heart and for a time she sank into the embrace and let the feeling of it wash over her.

Her bulldog-daemon, Gryff, nuzzled at Samiran, his tail wagging fiercely.

“You got away safely then?” She drew her back to arm’s length, looking her over as if expecting to find some horrible injury or that, perhaps, she was nothing more than a ghost.

“Oh, she did more than that,” Ruby grinned again, flitting her eyes meaningfully back to where Emma knew Killian must be waiting.

The older woman gave pause and tilted her head to see who was standing in Emma’s shadow, huffing a little. “I see,” was all she said. “Well, let’s get you settled inside. There’s some leftover lunch you can have whilst we talk. You look as if you could do with a good feeding up.”

Emma turned back to Killian, giving him a sheepish sort of smile.

“You want to go on ahead and I’ll meet up with you later?” he asked.

“You’re welcome to stay,” Emma insisted.

“Seeing as you’re safe here, I’ll head back into town, gather more intel and get supplies for the last part of our journey. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Don’t be too long,” she replied, delighting in the smirk he shot her.

Ruby linked arms with her immediately, leaning forward to whisper, “with him away you can tell me _everything_. I want all the details, Emma.”

“You’re as salacious as ever,” Emma replied, entertained and embarrassed all at once.

“Of course,” the woman put on a show of looking offended, ducking her head to enter the barge, her wolf bumping past her legs. It wasn’t the first time that Emma had found Ruby’s daemon an interesting choice. Most gyptians had small daemons that fitted nicely into the way of life. A bird or a rodent or other small mammal. A daemon the size of a wolf was almost unheard of. And yet, to think of Ruby as anything else was nigh impossible. The girl was larger than life, fierce and loyal. She demanded attention with her looks and her personality. She was entirely wolf and her daemon was, at least, a lean thing, all legs.

“Take a seat, I’ll get you some food,” Granny replied.

Samiran curled up underneath her chair, falling back into old habits immediately and Emma felt instantly at ease. Content. Safe. She’d missed it terribly. Felt a little guilty at how this felt far more like home than the farmhouse in the hills.

“Tell us everything, Emma,” Ruby insisted, snatching a bread roll from the plate as Granny shimmied by.

“Hey, girlie, you’ve already eaten.”

Ruby just beamed and took a bite.

“Well, in short, I escaped without too much difficulty and sailed with the pirates back to the town where I’d grown up. The orphanage. Did some digging around, followed the trail and, eventually, located my parents.”

“How was it?” Granny asked kindly.

“You visited them?” Ruby added, eyes widening.

“I did. It was strange. They were nice. There was some backstory, of course, but they hadn’t meant for me to be taken away to the orphanage. They’d even attempted to find me. They’re kind, peaceful people and it also turns out I have three younger brothers.”

The two women listened to Emma’s tale of her family. How she’d felt like knots were slowly being unraveled in her chest.

“That’s wonderful, girlie, but...why are you here and not with them?” Granny enquired, “something to do with that young man of yours?”

“Granny! You never guess who he is!” Ruby barely gave the woman time to reply before she blurted, “only the infamous dread pirate, Captain Hook! I mean, I’d heard the rumours of course, but I never expected him to be so attractive.”

Granny looked incredulous.

“If you’d heard him to be so infamous, why send me to his ship? For all you knew, he could've killed me on sight!” Emma retorted, trying to divert the conversation.

“I spent enough time down at the harbour, Emma.”

Granny gave an annoyed sound.

“I did a bit of fraternising with the sailors, with some of his very crew. He didn’t strike me as all that bad.”

“Killian’s crew?”

“Only a couple. Some of the younger ones. The majority of the crew went elsewhere, from what I understood. They spoke of him highly enough.”

Emma nodded, she remembered how the crew tended to split. She supposed that was down to preferences. Not all inns doubled as brothels and perhaps crew who weren’t interested in random dalliances had gone for other options. Or for the challenge, she supposed, thinking of the twins who had drawn some of the younger crew away that night when Teach had attacked them.

She tucked into the food with vivacity.

“Come on, Emma. I want all the details. You and the captain? What’s he doing so far inland away from his ship? It’s either serious between you two or you’ve paid him a hell of a lot of money to travel at your side. And, without being rude, Emma, you’ve never been in a good financial position.”

“He helped me. I helped him. He helped me again, now we’re out to even the score. I owe him a favour.”

“So you’re here because of him?”

“Of sorts,” she paused to take another bite, relishing in the simple, wholesome flavours. She’d missed her family’s home cooked meals more than anything and this was almost its equal.

“And the sex is, what, casual? Or with feeling?”

She noted how Ruby had dropped her eyes to look at her jaguarundi-daemon. At this angle, Emma couldn’t see him tucked beneath her chair, but she imagined he looked as embarrassed and uncomfortable as a cat could possibly look.

“Wow, the man’s worked miracles.” Ruby replied, whistling lowly. “He’s either the most trust-worthy person you’ve ever met or he’s just amazing in bed.”

Emma burned hot.

“Come on, Ems, give me a tidbit at least.”

“He’s..uh…pretty good.”

The brunette laughed, “I’m pleased for you. It’s about time someone managed to tempt you into feeling something.”

“I owe him my life,” Emma said, after a moment, “and he didn’t abandon me, even when he could have. Even when I gave him the opportunity.”

“Sounds like a keeper,” Ruby said, her smile softening.

Granny Lucas gave a gruff sound as if wanting to impart warning advice but she must have decided better for it. Ruby’s wolf-daemon had shot the bulldog a warning look that seemed to have passed the message through clearly enough.

“I’m going to stay with him,” Emma said at last.

“On his ship?”

She nodded, “it’s the safest place for me at the moment. At least until I’m old news and they’ve moved onto new targets. At this point I’m not sure whether that’ll ever happen. At least on his ship we’ll be constantly moving from place to place and women aren’t commonplace on the sea.”

“And you get to be with the man you love,” Ruby insisted with a smile.

“Who said anything about love?” Emma bit back.

“You forget who you’re talking to. I know you too well, Emma. If you were not totally into him you would have bailed by now. You don’t need him to keep out of sight. You’ve been surviving in the streets since you were a kid. No, honey, if he’s still here it’s because you want him to be.” She raised both eyebrows at her but Emma didn’t respond to it.

There was no point, anyway. She couldn’t deny it and if she did she’d be lying. She didn’t make a habit of lying to one of her only friends.

“So, tell me, what have I missed since I last saw you?” Emma asked, changing the subject.

“Not too much. We’ve been traversing our same routes as usual. I’ve no doubt broken a few more hearts since but, it’s hard, you know. Finding _the one_.”

“When did you suddenly get interested in that?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love playing the game but sometimes when I see people who were meant to be together, the way they are together, the way their daemons are.”

Granny huffed, mumbling an excuse and left the barge, her bulldog stooping off after her.

“Well, sometimes I think I want that, too. I want someone to come whisk me away. Someone who can handle a wolf.”

The actual wolf at her side gave a low growl in affirmation.

“There was this girl a few towns back. She overheard me flirting with the barman and told me, quite matter-of-fact, that he wouldn’t be able to handle me. We were chatting for hours after that and she was...well, let’s just say she was spirited enough to keep me in check. Her daemon was some sort of little terrier and he was so bold and brash. She practically pounced on me and dragged me back to her place. I’m telling you, Emma, that girl knew the meaning of the word pleasure. We didn’t sleep a wink that night.”

“So what happened?”

“Oh, so you want the details of _my_ love life but aren’t willing to part with yours?”

Emma set her friend with a stern look, so much like Samiran’s face that Ruby burst into laughter.

“No, I mean, did you not see her again? Was she not interested? What happened?”

“The same thing that always happens. We move on.” Ruby shrugged, setting a hand on her daemon’s handsome head.

“What if you stayed?” Emma replied without hesitation, “perhaps...perhaps the fact that your daemon settled as a wolf is a sign that life on a boat isn’t for you.”

“What about Granny?” Ruby replied, “she’s got herself into all states of concern about the kids lately and I don’t know what she’d say.”

“If she knew you’d be happy?”

“She’d miss me.”

“You could see her every time she passes by.”

Ruby chewed on her lip.

“I never took you for ever being indecisive. I think you already know what you have to do. If you want this girl to be more than a passing fling, you have to go for it.”

“We’ll see.” Her expression turned sly, “so Killian, huh? Please, Emma, let me in on some details. He must know his way around a woman.”

Emma gave a bark of laughter, amused by her perseverance. 

“Yes, okay, he’s good. You wouldn’t believe the things he can do.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sure I can.”

They laughed and delighted in stories of their love lives until Emma truly felt like she was reliving her early twenties when she’d first struck up an accord with Ruby. They’d always gossiped about their admirers and their lovers - though Ruby always had had far more to tell than Emma.

They were still laughing, tears biting at the corners of her eyes, when Killian reappeared, ducking into the barge having clearly been directed there by Granny.

Ruby - who had been in the middle of discussing one of her earliest boyfriends - paused to give him an appreciative glance.

“Please, ladies, don’t stop on my account.” He looked terribly amused and not the least bit concerned about what they might have been discussing in the hour and a half he had been gone.

“As I was saying,” Ruby continued, “the poor boy had barely got it in before he was coming undone and from my reaction he barely had time to pull up his breeches before he scurried for the door. I felt bad afterwards. I probably put him off of girls for life.”

“Or maybe you gave him enough cause to improve on his performance,” Killian responded, taking a seat across from Emma, bumping his legs purposely against hers.

Sereia gave a loud meow in agreement and snuck in next to Samiran under Emma’s chair.

Emma’s eyes lowered to watch them indulge in some easy affection and suddenly knew what her friend meant when she said she’d decided she finally wanted something more in a relationship.

“So...what, you can sympathise?” Emma asked, teasing.

“Despite what you may think of me - and males as a whole, love - we’re not born with an innate knowledge of how to please a woman. It takes practise.”

“You’re way more forthcoming than Emma, where were you an hour ago when I was vying for saucy gossip?” Ruby said.

He grinned at her.

“So, find out anything useful?”

“Not too much, there was some talk of kids getting taken in the next town over. Seems to have people pretty worried.”

“You’ve not heard about that?” Ruby asked, “All these kids have been going missing. Granny is so worried about it, thinks we shouldn’t let the little ones go scurrying off on their own.”

“Kids have always gone missing,” Emma replied, not quite understanding, “you learn that pretty quick once you’re on the streets. Stick as a group if you can. Don’t go off with anyone, no matter what they’re offering. It’s nothing new.”

“Thing is it’s not just homeless kids. They’ve taken gyptian kids and others from all over. I doubt there’s a single town left in Brytain that hasn’t had some kids taken.”

“They have any idea who’s doing it?”

“The kids called them Gobblers,” Ruby shrugged.

Emma snorted, “sounds like a made-up story. It’s probably just Turk traders or some other organised gang.”

“I hope so, although whoever it is, it doesn’t help the folks who’ve lost kids. Traders, Gobblers, murderers or whatever they are. Rumours are taking flight now and it won’t be long before everyone’s heard of them. Could spell trouble. The people might start demanding action.”

“Well, don’t expect the police to put much effort in, not if it's just poor kids getting taken. As far as they see it, it’s one less street rat causing trouble.”

All three of them knew the weight of the truth in that statement.

“The gyptians won’t stand for it,” Ruby said firmly and fiercely proud.

“I should think not,” Emma replied.

Chat idled to topics of the immediate future before, playfully, Ruby started to quiz Killian on more risque topics and Emma watched in fascination as he took it all in his stride, answering with an entertained grin and giving just enough detail to leave Ruby both thoroughly entertained and ridiculously irritated.

“You’re such a tease,” she complained.

“I try,” he shrugged, casually.

“So what was the secret, then, to catching Emma’s eye and holding it? You’re pretty, but our Emma isn’t that shallow.”

Emma wondered about the truth of that. Admittedly it had been physical attraction at first. The man could certainly work the pirate look.

Meanwhile, Sereia was chuckling, “she called you ‘pretty’.”

Ruby looked delighted at that reaction but Killian just preened.

Their conversation continued later than planned but Killian showed no hint at wanting to rush off and Emma decided to take advantage and wallow in the familiar comfort a little longer, until, at last, with the creeping of dusk, she could put it off no longer.

“I wish you weren’t leaving, Emma.” The gyptian girl said at last.

Granny was back in the barge by then, fussing over her little stove.

“Listen, think about what I said before.” Emma said lowly, “you deserve happiness, Ruby, and if you decide to give it a shot then don’t let anything stop you. I’ll track you down no matter what. We’ll see each other again.”

She nodded, “maybe take some of that advice yourself, too, Emma?” She gave her a meaningful look, flicking her gaze between Emma and Killian. “You’ve got a good thing going here, alright? Don’t mess it up.”

Emma hushed her and then they were embracing again. It was hard not to feel like this would be the last time they would see each other. 

And then Granny was there with a paper bag of food as a parting gift and another of her crushing embraces.

“I’ll miss you,” Emma breathed out, her lungs straining against the pressure of the woman’s strong arms.

“Don’t be a stranger, girlie. You hear? Take care of yourself out there.”

She ducked out of the barge, only hearing part of Killian’s farewells - his tone was charming and pleasant as always. 

And then all at once, strikingly different from their position a moment ago, they were back on the cold, dark towpath; their footfall echoing off of the bridge they passed beneath.

“Your friend is an absolute fiend,” Killian replied after a moment and she tucked herself in close, relishing in the weight of his arm across her shoulders.

“That she is,” Emma replied, feeling suddenly nostalgic.

Samiran leapt up into her arms and she pressed him to her breast for comfort.

Her life with the gyptians had been a good one, the best she’d ever known, but that chapter was truly over now. She had to move on, just as she hoped that Ruby would.

\---

It took them five days to walk from the suburbs of Manchester to Bristol, the weather impeding their progress more than they would have expected. The rain barely let up for three days, flooding roads and making the trudge across open countryside abysmal. The muddy soup sucked at their feet as they moved across freshly ploughed farmland, resulting in lost footing more times than they could count.

Killian felt sorry for Samiran, most of all. Sereia could huddle in his coat or drape herself across his shoulders when the going was too tough but Emma struggled to hold his bulkier weight in her arms for long periods. Her rucksack, the empty space where the jaguarundi-daemon had once sought refuge, was taken up with blankets and other additional gear they had needed for their trip.

And come evening, soaked through and covered in mud, it was near impossible to light a fire on the damp, cold ground. On the third night, they’d given up trying to sleep at all and trudged onwards through the dark, relying on the light of the moon and the cat-eyes of the daemons leading the way. 

The last day of rain was easier going, if only for the stableness of a road under their feet.

By late afternoon the dense clouds had started to break up - the relentless rain turning to a drizzle that misted prettily in Emma’s eyelashes and hair. He kissed her sweetly, pleased at the small smile he earned in return. A smile that widened when they spotted the outbuildings hunkered against a backdrop of stalwart pines.

The prospect of shelter was too good a thing to pass up.

The stables - thankfully - were empty, none of the stalls currently occupied, though it was clear some of them did have inhabitants. The farthest stall from the door looked abandoned, housing a number of battered saddles and bridles that looked like they had seen better days.

The damp leather of his long coat creaked as he leaned over to latch the door behind them, joining Emma down on a cold, hard floor; it’s only redeeming quality was that it was dry.

They stripped down to their underwear, slung the clothes over the rails next to the saddles and listened to the gentle _pat pat_ of water dripping from the fabric.

Then Emma was gathering her hair and drawing it over one shoulder to run a brush through it, exposing her back and neck. He couldn’t help himself. He brushed his lips across the pale skin, the scars between her shoulder blades, silvery and slightly rough.

She stretched upwards, curved her spine and made a small sound of delight at his attention..

Sam and Rei, however, looked on miserably, huddled together by the door. Their wet fur was spiked up in clumps along their backs.

“When we take back your ship, what will we do with the mutineers?” Emma asked, suddenly.

He was surprised, at first, by this conversation, but then realised it should have been expected. They were closing in on their destination now. Once they arrived they’d be planning and preparing to face off against Teach.

“The ones who directly attacked us, you mean?”

She nodded.

“They won’t be given another chance to attack us again,” he replied, feeling a cold, cruel edge creep into his voice. It was hard to feel any other way about it. Not when his left shoulder still ached with the reminder. “If our surprise attack doesn’t kill them, they’ll meet a far slower death at my hand.”

Emma kept her eyes straight ahead, though Samiran glanced sharply at him, looking more stern than usual.

“Even if I wanted to be merciful, I couldn’t. If I show even the slightest weakness or hesitation, it’ll be inviting someone else to challenge my authority.”

“I get it, Killian. I really do. They chose this. They turned on their captain knowing the risks. They deserve whatever they get and worse. It doesn’t mean I have to like the idea, though. That I don’t wish there was another way.”

Her daemon looked settled again, maybe convinced by the fact that there really was no other choice.

“I will be glad when this is done,” she replied at last, voice trailing.

“Aye, love, me too.”

It felt like the shadow that had been pursuing them all this time was drawing closer, darkening and stormy. He could feel the tension of it, drawing tight like the string of a bow.

To say he wasn’t nervous would have been a lie, but truly, in his head, he’d almost always succeeded in what he’d set out to do. There had never an option of failure. Of never setting foot on his beloved ship, rank restored, the toil of the sea rocking her beneath his feet.

Anyone who thought his show of affection for Emma was a weakness knew nothing about him at all.

Emma could never be a weakness.

Only strength.

He stroked his fingers gently down the curve of her bare shoulder, delighting in her shudder.

“Will we be safe here?” she pondered aloud.

“For the time being, I should think. Sleep now. With any luck the rain will be gone by the time we’re on the move again."

She nodded, pushing her hair so that it flowed down her back, flattened by the rain but smooth and untangled now. She reached for her rucksack, pulled her slightly damp blanket out and cocooned herself in it.

Killian, watching her, fell asleep without truly meaning to.

Their sheer exhaustion had them both sleeping through the rest of the afternoon and through much of the night. He woke with a start to utter darkness and an ache in his shoulder that seemed to return with the cold. He rubbed at the scar tissue to ease it and felt Sereia bump gently against his knee.

“Sleep,” she encouraged softly, “the rain has stopped but the dawn is hours off yet.”

He nodded and waited for the cat-daemon to settle herself, sleeping again until his inbuilt alarm clock stirred him again at about six in the morning. The light was dim but the air felt clearer; the tang of rain dissipated. 

It was only when he heard movement elsewhere in the stables that he realised someone had brought the animals back from pasture whilst they had been asleep.

He shoved lightly at Emma’s shoulder and she groaned in response and tried to shrug him off. Samiran blinked blearily at him then tried to curl up tighter.

Rei grabbed Sam by the scruff and shook him until he relented and stirred.

“What--?” Emma mumbled.

“There’ll be activity around here soon, someone brought the animals back yesterday.”

“Okay, okay,” she was saying one thing but doing quite the other.

She was snuggling back down into the blankets until he could only just see the top of her head peeking out from beneath it. Sam was curling up in the straw next to her once more - until Rei pounced on him. 

“Emma,” Killian warned.

“What time is it?” she asked.

“Around six.”

She groaned and Killian knew if he let her go back to sleep they could lose half a day's travel.

“Come on, get up.”

Their clothes were still damp, though the dripdry had been relatively effective. He slipped back into his heavy coat - made heavier by the rain - and groaned at the cold discomfort it brought.

_Not too much further now,_ he reasoned.

They’d get a roof over their heads soon enough.

And that feeling of impending arrival only burgeoned at spying Bristol, almost two days later, gleaming ahead of them. A bright and beautiful city that Killian wished they had the time to dwell in. But, alas, it was a busy and potentially dangerous place for them now and so they skirted around it, heading directly to where Scarlet awaited them at Redcliff Bay.

\---

Their last evening was a strange one, fraught with anticipation and melancholy in equal measure. They were so close to the end of the journey. So close to shelter, decent food, comrades and plans for the future. And yet, Killian knew that this night - their last night of their trip - would be the last time they would truly be alone together for a long time.

He had proposed they stop early for the day to eat and when he’d eventually suggested delaying their arrival until the following day (even if it meant sleeping out under the stars yet again) she’d agreed forthwith.

And then, as the indigo ink of the night sky blotted away the last remaining light, they lay side by side on a grassy slope in the middle of nowhere, glancing up at the stars as they slowly revealed themselves. 

One day, soon, he’d teach her more about the constellations above them, but right now he felt content with the lingering, comfortable silence and her fingers curled against his palm.

“Tell me a story,” she mumbled, sounding half asleep.

So he told her about how different he and his brother were. How Liam lived by the rulebook. Always smart. Always prim and proper. A perfect citizen - until he started questioning judgement when people who he thought shared a common moral code seemed not to be quite who they said they were. How he, himself, frequently took delight in breaking the rules that his brother lived by. How he landed himself in trouble time and time again, forcing his older brother to bail him out. How he drove Liam mad with his irresponsibility.

When she was done laughing at the efforts his brother had gone to, to keep Killian on the straight and narrow, she told him a story in return. About the day when she finally accepted that she had only herself to rely on. The very day that Samiran had settled into his fierce, stern, wild cat shape.

And when she was done, he pulled her into his arms and they loosened their clothing just enough to get at one another, their bodies coming together in sweet union.

The following day, their daemons striding out ahead of them, they arrived at Redcliff.

\---

They entered the safehouse without announcement, finding no welcoming committee at all. Just Tide slumped on a threadbare couch, one arm dangled, loose fingers curling just above the neck of a mostly empty bottle of ale that lay on the floor. The deckhand gave a loud snore, shifted a little, but stayed deeply asleep. His tern-daemon was nestled in a tear in the back of the sofa.

Killian grimaced at the sight.

His eyes flicked briefly to Emma’s and he felt the tug of their connection as she schooled her features into something stern.

“Captain on deck!” her voice cracked like a whip and Tide jerked to wakefulness, trying to gain his feet but instead landing sharply on his knees. His daemon woke with a piercing cry and flapped her slender wings erratically.

“Captain!” Tide responded, forcing himself to his feet with a groan, the look on his face making it clear that he was badly hungover. “Scarlet never told me you were due back.”

“Clearly,” he hadn’t given any word that they were on their way but, as he’d stated, he was back only one day later than he’d said despite the weather conditions. 

“And where _is_ Scarlet?”

Tide flustered a moment, his mouth opening, closing and then opening again.

“Well, out with it, lad. Is he here or not?”

“No, sir.”

“So are you going to have me playing guessing games or are you going to tell me where he is?”

The boy flushed, pulling himself up straighter, his daemon coming to rest on his shoulder, “no sir. I believe he’s with a woman, sir.”

Killian clenched his jaw, “do I want to know?”

“The mutinous pirate’s wife, Captain.”

That pulled a laugh from him, short-lived though it was, “and, given the time, the man clearly sticks around for breakfast. Does she do his laundry, too?” He rolled his shoulder carefully, tapping the point of his hook against the surface of the table. It felt good to have the brace back in place after so long without it. He felt whole again.

Tide said nothing, just stammered a little.

“We are the first to arrive, I take it.”

Tide confirmed it.

“Well, until Scarlet graces us with his presence, do you at least have information to share?”

“Letters,” the lad replied, scampering across the room and pulling out a small wooden box. He attempted the lid, found it locked, and then started rummaging for a key.

Killian was many things but patient was not one of them. He strode over, took the box and prised it apart with the tip of his hook. The wood split along the hinge as it gave way. Inside were a small bundle of letters tied together with a piece of string. He recognised the handwriting as Smee’s and knew it would take some time to decode each one. 

“Right, some of us have work to do,” he growled, opening the door into a further room that contained three beds shoved back against the walls and a table set in the middle. There were no chairs so Killian dragged the table one-handed so that he could sit on one of the beds and spread the papers out across the top.

“Can I help?” Emmas asked from the doorway and he beckoned her in. She shut the door behind her with a soft click and moved to join him and between them they managed to get the correspondence in date order and the first three decoded before Will returned. They could hear his loud greeting to the deckhand and seemed not to understand the hushed warnings that Tide was throwing at him.

“Ah, mate, you wouldn’t believe the night I--what? What you looking at me like that for? What?”

Tide’s gave a barely discernible mumble.

“What? Listen, mate, I--oh. _Oh_.”

Killian met Emma’s gaze and she was rolling her eyes with amusement to which he responded with an equally entertained smile. Still, as he drew himself to his feet and sidled towards the door, he locked his serious expression into place and stepped out to greet the thief-come-pirate who had, too late, realised his error.

Scarlet already looked quailed, his magpie-daemon bobbing nervously on his shoulder.

“Alright, mate. Captain. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“You lose track of time, Scarlet? We were due yesterday.”

“Ah right, well...how about that. Time sure does fly when you’re...spying and shit.”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear about your crude flings. I take it you’ve been at least gathering intel whilst you’ve been busying yourself between her legs?”

“I would if there were any to gather!” he looked smug now, the younger man never one to be cowed for long. “The woman loves to brag about him, but to be honest I don’t think she hears anything of him. Doesn't strike me one for love letters. Either way, she’s going nowhere and, if she was, she’d be sure to let me know. She prefers me, to be honest. And why wouldn’t she? You seen this face?” he gestured amusedly at himself.

“Did you make any headway with Smee’s letters?”

“Aye, some. You seen them already?”

“Working on them now.”

“He’s been receiving steady intel from Midge. Nothing that shows he’s heading here any time soon, but even if he doesn’t, he’ll start favouring ports now. He’ll fall into a pattern.”

“I don’t want to wait until he’s settled into a pattern.” Killian retorted sharply, “Damnit, I was hoping we’d have something on him by now. It’s been, what, two months?”

Will nodded, though in truth he likely had no idea. Time had clearly gotten away with him.

“Thereabouts,” Emma confirmed, “that’s not long in the grand scheme of things.”

“We’re probably due another letter soon,” Will continued, dropping onto the couch and throwing his legs up onto the table, crossing them at the ankles. His magpie-daemon pecked at the crooked floorboards. “We’ve had three since we got here. Two of them came in on the same day, the last one we had came in about eight days ago.

Killian, grumbling, returned to reading and Emma stayed to chat with Will and Tide. The ebb and flow of their conversation should have been a nuisance when he was trying to concentrate but all he could think of was being back on the ship, crew milling around him and Emma part of it. Emma there as if she’d always been so.

By mid-afternoon Robin joined them, looking more travel-worn than even Emma and he had. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but Killian knew he’d been late in leaving his wife, Marian, and his son. He couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed. The Sailing Master had more than earned a little leeway in the time they had known each other and, in the end, he’d been almost behind them.

Killian grasped the man by the elbow, nodding in greeting and felt himself settle at the levelled gaze of a veteran sailor.

“You did beat me, then,” Robin replied, “I thought I’d try the train to save time but the line was flooded and got hit by delays.”

“It was probably the better choice,” Killian returned. His bones still ached from being caught in that infernal downpour.

And then Tide dragged some battered wooden chairs and stools into the room and set them about the table. Food was replaced with maps and decoded letters and they began to work their plans on the supposition that Teach would sail up into the channel and drop anchor.

Their daemons congregated beneath the table, three birds and two cats, speaking quietly amongst themselves.

Three and a half weeks prior, Smee had arrived in Wealh to find a letter already waiting for him from Midge. Another came just a few days later, which explained why they had arrived together. All in all, the information was neither good nor bad.

The _Jolly Roger_ had sailed west and was not at port for long; just long enough to sate a man’s thirst and resupply. Crew were still wary around him and there was an unease about the place, yet, from the sound of it, they’d had a couple of successful raids quite early on which had most crew begrudgingly following him. There was discontent but not outright rebellion. Again, no surprise, considering the man’s temperament. Teach’d managed to wrangle some new crewmembers to replace those who had died or escaped and, sometime, not long after, he’d fashioned himself with a moniker of his own. 

“Blackbeard?” Killian scoffed, “not very inventive, is it?”

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Emma laughed, gesturing at his hook with a tilt of her head.

He scoffed all the same, tapping said hook against the table in clear agitation. “He’s trying to carve out a reputation where there’s none to be found.”

“Hey, mate, didn’t you hear? He killed Captain Hook!” Will crowed, slapping a hand against his knee and almost tipping his beer down Tide’s shoulder.

“Purportedly.” Killian ground his teeth.

“None of that matters,” Locksley intervened, “he’ll soon be dead, his reputation built on nothing more than lies.”

“Listen, we can’t do much but wait until Smee arrives, right? There’s no sign that ‘Blackbeard’ will be sailing here anytime soon. For now we need to make money to fund this revenge plan, right?” Emma tried to steer them back.

“She’s right,” Locksley agreed, “I imagine most of you are almost out of funds. We need to get ourselves some work.”

“I’ve been doing some jobs over at the port,” Tide replied, “thought it’d be handy in case I caught wind of any gossip.”

“Well, I’m glad I sent _someone_ productive down here.” Killian replied.

“Hey!” Scarlet snapped, the boatswain looking so offended that they burst into laughter.

\---

The weeks crept on, one day crawling into the next with such similarity that Emma did not notice how many days had passed them by. The town was small, but busy. It was one of the closest settlements to the port and saw more than its fair share of strangers. Sailors. Merchants. Simple travellers. They came with their fair share of interesting stories and, some, with exotic daemons she had only seen in books.

She loved the market the best. The noise. The sights. The smells. Lines of fresh fish, sacks of spices, woven baskets heaped with shimmering fabrics, cabinets glittering with jewellery. She loved eavesdropping on conversations between stall holders and clients or others who were just meandering as she was.

And the crush of people helped her feel secure, the steely look of focus on their faces. Most didn’t come to the market to people-watch. They came to barter and chat. It gave Emma the sense of security that she hadn’t felt in the longest time.

One day she would catch sight of a young sailor attempting to draw the eye of a pretty girl - his gannet daemon sweeping low in her best imitation of a bow. Another day, she saw a dark-skinned man with a snake for a daemon whose scales were a mottle of golds and browns. Then there was a group of men (Samoyeds, she later learned) who chattered in a foreign language, their daemons all feral wolves so unlike Ruby’s daemon that they almost looked a different species entirely. Then a Texan couple who gave their stories freely, their daemons, a coyote and racoon, looking equally as mischievous. The racoon made her think of Midge, which made her wonder if she might accidentally come across ‘Blackbeard’ in this unpredictable place.

The Texan couple spotted her perhaps half an hour later, their eyes alighting on her jaguarundi-daemon with recognition - a thing that very rarely happened here where they were not a native species and catlike enough that people made assumptions.

To her surprise, they engaged her in conversation. Their tone was warm, friendly and inquisitive. She chatted with them for a time, feeling happier for it - until later when she realised they might very well see her face on a poster and recognise her at once for the woman with the jaguarundi-daemon. After that she pulled back from the market and stayed mostly at the safehouse, wallowing in the comfort her sad-eyed daemon tried to offer her.

“It won’t be like this forever,” Killian promised her, his hooked arm wrapped tight around her, pulling her body flush with his. She kissed him gently, deeply, until - breathless - she pulled away.

But at the market or not, the days continued to turn, day to night and then to day again.

Until, at last, with Summer cresting, a letter arrived that had them scurrying to finalise plans and make way to take back what was theirs.

“Smee will be here any day now,” Killian began. He’d forgone his heavy coat for a thin shirt, but even that was not enough to keep the heat at bay. The temperatures had become stifling the last couple of days and with all of them huddled in the small room, doors and windows fastened shut to prevent eavesdropping. Will had forgone a shirt altogether, Tide in a simple vest, Locksley dressed much the same as his captain. Emma’s clothes were meagre, anyway, so she was dressed in her usual wide-legged culottes and tank top, hair tied high to get the heavy waves off of her neck.

“From what I understand, Teach is planning to make port in the area, which means at least one of his crew will be heading back here.

“He’s managed to recruit and is, according to this letter, carrying a number of valuable supplies. So, everyone get your things together. We need to be ready to make a move the moment the opportunity comes. They won’t be stopping for long and we won’t be left behind.”

Smee was with them by the evening, accompanied by the two deckhands he had left with, Alex and Jack, and more beside. 

Emma stayed back after she had been introduced, eyes skipping over the new faces with carefully guarded curiosity. Two men and a woman, two younger, one older, all with an assortment of belongings and the telltale signs of a story to tell. She watched their interactions. Watched Killian in his element. 

His character truly flourished as a leader, his stature stronger, his talent for words a thing to marvel. The wariness dropped from everyone’s shoulders as he spoke of their coming victory and promises of spoils. He made them believe. Had them focused.

After a time, Killian, Smee and Robin disappeared to go over the finer points of plans and though Killian hadn’t said she couldn’t go, she felt like she would have been out of place. Her part in this plan was only ever to follow and help where she could. So she stayed and moved to greet Alex and Jack, falling into that easy camaraderie they’d acquired on the ship.

Will, who’d been chatting raucously with the newcomers, drew the groups together and, after the initial trepidation, conversation began to flow, the group taking seats around the table.

“So, Emma,” one of the newcomers said. He was a princely looking man with an almost mild, sweet looking face despite the square jaw and thick brows. She noted that he carried a rifle with him, though it seemed an absurdly aggressive weapon for a man who clearly had a playful and intelligent nature - if his daemon was anything to go by. She was a sweet Old English Sheepdog that had the same colour eyes as her human counterpart, smaller than was usual for the breed.

“Eric, right?” she offered her hand in greeting.

“Yes, and this is Maxyn.”

“So, a pirate’s life for you, is it?”

“Honestly, I have no idea if I’m doing the right thing but...when the quartermaster found me, I’d just been dismissed from the ship I was serving and, it seemed a little like fate.”

“Ah, right. Fate,” she gave him a tight-lipped smile and he laughed at her, clearly not surprised by her response. His daemon wagged her tail and lolled her tongue, good-naturedly.

“And the rifle?”

“It’s mine. I’m a good shot, too.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she retorted, not unkindly.

“Trust me, I’d rather not have to, but it sounds like we’ll have the need.”

“We will.” Scarlet intervened, “we don’t have much in the way of firearms, we’ll need every shot we’ve got.”

Beside Eric sat an intriguing and imposing woman. She was tall, dark and beautiful, with an undeniable air of danger about her. She was clearly fit; her frame lean and strong. Her daemon was a little salamander, vividly striped with black and yellow. In fact, if her daemon had been a bird, Emma would have believed her to be one of the Lapland witches.

“Ursula?” Emma continued, without pause. She remembered the name, “you’ve worked on ships before?”

“No, but I owe Hook a favour, so here I am. I can hold my own.”

Well _there_ was a story if there ever was one. Emma tried to be subtle in her scrutiny but the woman seemed to be spoiling for a fight.

“And how about you?” Ursula continued. “We have the boatswain, the deckhands and you. What is your place on the good captain’s crew?”

She opened her mouth to respond until, she realised, she wasn’t sure of the answer herself. Short of joining the crew, there had never been any discussions of rank or duty. When it came to sailing, she supposed she had learned most of what a deckhand would know.

“That’s...a good question, actually. I’ll let you know when I have the answer.”

Will laughed, nudging at the fierce woman with his elbow, “she’s the captain’s confidant, if you know what I mean.”

“Ah,” Ursula responded without humour, making it clear she understood perfectly.

Emma didn’t like the look the other woman was suddenly giving her. At how she seemed to be writing her off as a potential comrade.

“Look, I don’t have much experience on a ship but I’ve spent my life surviving, tracking and outwitting my quarry. The captain hasn’t specifically stated my rank but, I’ll settle with deckhand, for now. I can handle myself just fine.”

Scarlet gave another bark of laughter and she kicked him in the shin.

The older man, it turned out, had a medical background. He appeared to be in some sort of trouble and clearly wanted to get away for a while. He didn’t talk much and kept to himself. He had dubbed himself Miller, but Emma wasn’t convinced that was his real name. 

It was him that she was the least convinced about, though if he could aid in injuries, she supposed he would more than make up for his reserved nature. His daemon was a bat with a fierce, turned-up little face.

Only Eric’s daemon mingled with the others. The bat and the salamander perched on the shoulders of their partners and didn’t move.

Emma turned her attention back to those she knew best and dipped into their conversation with relative ease.

\---

It was two days later when Will Scarlet returned in the early hours of the morning, talking in hushed but frantic tones. Even trying to muffle the noise against Killian’s chest, she could hear the crew who had been sleeping downstairs stirring, grumbling, telling the boatswain to _shut your stupid mouth._

Killian, who was stirring next to her, groaned in dismay at the disturbed sleep.

“Do you think he’s just drunk?” she asked.

“If he is, he’s going to regret it.”

She lamented the loss of his arms around her and haggardly rose to join him at the door. 

They descended the stairs together, turning into the main living space where everyone bar Ursula had adopted as their sleeping quarters. Robin had graciously given up his quarters for her. The woman came down to join them a few moments later.

“You better have a good reason for disturbing us in the middle of the night,” Killian snapped.

Scarlet was clearly out of breath but there was no misunderstanding what he said next.

“He’s here, Captain. He’s bloody here!”


	10. Chapter 10

“I barely made it out before he came stamping in the house making demands,” Scarlet wheezed.

“Did you stay to listen in? Do we have any idea how long he’s here for?” Robin asked.

“Aye, two days.”

“Did he say where they were at port?” Killian added.

“No. Just told her he had to get back in a couple of days.”

“I want eyes on that house at all times. Be ready to move out at a moment’s notice.”

“I’ll go,” Tide offered.

“Get going, then. I’ll send someone to relieve you before dawn.”

The deckhand pulled on his shoes and jacket and was gone in moments.

“Right, everyone else, back to sleep. This might be the last proper night’s sleep we get before we take back the _Jolly Roger_.”

He dropped back onto the bed beside her a few minutes later but Emma could feel the tension pouring off of him. His body was alive, his mind turning and turning with such ferocity she could practically hear the cogs turning.

“Hey,” she turned to him and mourned the lack of light in the room. The shutters were closed and the night was overcast. 

“She’s so close.”

Emma nodded.

“She might only be a day away.”

“You’ll have her back soon enough.”

“I’ve never been the most patient of men,” he declared and she smiled at that. She knew that in some ways, that was true. And yet, at the same time, she knew he could be. He was patient with her. With her heart.

“Soon,” she whispered, hushing him with a brief kiss, the sound of their parting lips loud in the gloom. She did it again, and then again when she saw the flash of his smile. Suggestive.

Their time together had been severely limited since they had arrived at Redcliff. There was always work to be done. Always someone milling around. Someone awake at all times of day and night. The place was a bit of a mood killer, truth be told. Dusty and crowded and so, _so_ stifling in the awful humid weather.

Still, she pulled him flush against her and slipped her hand down the front of his chest, laughing as he shifted his weight, bearing her down against the mattress, nudging her hand away. 

It was hot in the room, the air heavy and unmoving even at this time of morning, and after a moment he raised himself up enough to put a slip of air between their chests.

With a huff, she slicked her hair back from her face and settled her hands against his shoulders, easing a leg slowly up along the outside of his thigh until she could sling it across his waist. Then she was pushing him hurriedly, guiding him to where they both wanted him to be. Putting up with the heat for a chance to unwind and snatch at a little more sleep.

Emma wasn’t entirely sure that Killian slept afterwards. _She_ did, though, drifting in and out of wakefulness. Lulled back into slumber by the muffled sounds of talking in the room below and not waking again until half of the morning was gone. Feeling weirdly embarrassed, she trod lightly back down into the room, thankful that no one seemed to be in residence. Sam trotted at her heel as she glanced around for any scraps of breakfast that might be left.

“Well, you did choose sleep,” Samiran chastised gently through a yawn, sitting to lick at a paw.

“That you, Emma?”

She brightened at the sound of Killian’s voice and the potential that the two of them might be alone, nearly skipping across to the smaller room adjacent.

“Morning,” she beamed, intending to turn her expression flirty if she had not noticed Smee sitting just across from him. She schooled her features instantly but it must not have gone unnoticed because the quartermaster was shuffling in his chair and Killian looked like he was barely holding in a laugh of amusement.

“Oh, sorry, was I interrupting something?” she asked.

Killian, with a stupid, fond look on his face, handed her a plate of food that he’d clearly nabbed and set aside for her. She eyed it for a moment, her heart swelling with the same ridiculous fondness, then snatched the plate and inhaled the food in record time.

“I’ll just leave you to it, then,” she replied between mouthfuls.

“If you’ve got nothing to do, we’d value your opinion on something, actually.” Killian continued, already turning back to the papers they had spread out across the table, the wood near grey from years of dust gathered in the grain.

She turned a querying look to Smee who simply nodded and made room for her on the bench.

“So, ignore this part.” he waved vaguely at the papers to his left, “We’re trying to pinpoint exactly where we should make our first strike. Initially we were going to catch them unawares at whatever watering hole they’re imbibing in.”

“Like they did with you,” Emma agreed. “Makes sense. They’ll be relaxed and slow to react to threats.”

“But their plan also failed. They didn’t capture key crew members and what's more we escaped with our lives.”

“So...what’s the alternative?”

\---

And three days later, huddled in the shadows of the darkening night, Emma hoped - desperately - that her tweaks to their plan would not turn out to be a terrible mistake. Her legs had gone to sleep beneath her, Samiran perched on her hunched back, his heavy weight distributed squarely across each of his paws. Pressed beside her was Tide, his tern-daemon nestled close to his throat. Next to him was Alex and Jack, silent and tense. On her other side was Ursula, crouched behind the last of the crates waiting to be stowed away. Somewhere across from them, hidden in the dark, was the old doctor, Eric and Scarlet.

Robin had gone to double-check that everyone was off the ship, well, besides the poor mutineer who had opted to stay and keep Midge company on lookout. Scarlet had slit his throat with barely a sound and the poor wretch was bobbing somewhere in the harbour.

Midge and Killian were out of sight now, too, catching up on last minute intel.

Her heart was hammering in her chest, so loud she was sure the others must be able to hear it. Beside her, Tide’s face looked pale in the moonlight, his breathing shallow. He turned his eyes to hers and she gave him a short nod, lips pressed firmly together. He nodded back, his mouth twisting in something akin to a smile.

Each of them had a pistol and she cradled it in her palm, the warmth of the metal a reminder that she had only one shot and to make sure it counted.

And then movement.

Midge was taking his place on the chair by the gangplank and Killian, coat billowing, leapt to cover himself. It would be no good to spring the trap too soon.

The soft light of the harbour did not pierce far into the dark, the shadows thick enough that they could not be seen - though daemon senses could not be completely ruled out. Most of the crew had seabirds for daemons that made their eyesight poor in the dark, but their hearing would be sharp.

And then, at last, the sounds of talking and laughter echoed through the empty streets, the sound of it nearly lost to the lap of the sea against the posts of the pier. She hunkered down, heart pounding, and held her breath.

“You missed one hell of a time, Midge,” someone called and then there was the steady, uneven thump of boots on the gangplank and the loud thud as each pirate dropped down into the ship. Midge chatted and laughed with them, his facade smooth.

“Aye, well, you owe me one next time, eh, lads!”

“O’course, mate.”

“I’ll help yah out,” came another reply. There was some more laughter and the stamping of feet as the crew moved down to their quarters.

“That all of yah?” Midge replied with a yawn, stretching.

“Cap will be along in a bit. The others are with him. You know how he is.”

“Aye. Can never be too careful.”

There was some more mumbling and Emma’s lungs burned as the men strolled past where she and the others were hiding. It was hard to make out much in the dark, but she could see at least one daemon looking around, more curious than nervous. It was a gangly crow, a scruffy looking thing, but sharp and intent. The crewman must have been a new recruit because she recognised neither man nor daemon.

She shifted very slightly, licking her lips, and cast a look out across the deck. Midge had dropped back to his chair, his daemon lying quiet beneath it. The raccoon looked tense, her back arched, eyes watchful.

Midge dropped a hand to stroke along her back; a soothing gesture that seemed to have the desired effect.

Still, it was some time before the Captain deigned to return to the ship. The night had begun to lose some of its depth, the very edge of the sky giving way to a slither of grey that promised the coming of the sun. If Teach was not back soon, they would lose the advantage of surprise. All it would take was a few shouts and the rest of the crew would be barralling out of bed to see what was going on.

She shifted slowly, changing the angle of her legs so that she was sitting, hugging her knees. Sam slipped a little but stayed pressed against her back. Tide gave a soft groan of discomfort and tried to shift, too.

Emma glanced his way apologetically, and realised she could see him better now. They were starting to lose the dark fast.

She heard the creak of shifting across the deck and wondered whether Killian was trying to make a decision on whether to change their plans or not.

And then more voices came echoing across at them.

_Shit!_

A few moments later the last group stepped under the pale streetlights. Teach was leading them, his wolverine daemon looking more ferocious than Emma remembered. She felt Sam’s claws curl into the skin of her back, his defensiveness measuring equal to hers. Readying for a fight, fangs laid bare.

Beside him were the man’s officers. Some she knew - who had chosen that night to turn on their captain in favour of Teach - and there were others who were new. Grim-faced folk with the daemons that Midge had warned them about. The loyal crewman had given them a list of Teach’s officers with warnings on which ones to be particularly wary of. Two in particular had been recruited specifically as bodyguards. One had a doberman, lean and strong. The other had a large monkey perched on his shoulder, alert and intelligent. Of all the men and women they were to face, it was this one that Emma was most afraid of.

Intelligence. Problem-solver. Adaptable.

Fools did not have daemons that settled as primates.

Teach gave Midge a nod as he boarded the ship, his officers falling in behind him in the greying light.

“What time are we due to set sail, Captain?” Midge asked.

“Sunrise,” came his gruff response. He turned, his broad shoulders blocking Midge from Emma’s view, reminding her of his imposing figure.

“Not much rest for the crew tonight,” Midge noted.

“A small price to pay for their pleasures. We’ve lingered too long already.”

“Aye, Captain. We’ll be ready.”

Teach continued on, his heavy tread interspersed with the click of the wolverine’s claws. His officers fell into step behind him and, for a moment, it seemed as if everything would go to plan. Until, of course, the monkey gave an enraged, shrill shriek of warning.

Emma’s heart leapt to her throat, her hand tightening on her pistol. The officers were turning back to the front of the ship where Scarlet was hidden. She squinted into the gloom, caught sight of movement, and knew that if she had seen it, they would have, too.

“Who's back there?” The man with the monkey-daemon called out. The officers and Teach were turning now, too. 

Emma expected curiosity, anger perhaps, but she noticed the ripple of fear that went through all of those who could call themselves mutineers. 

“Show yourself!” Teach demanded. His wolverine daemon was snarling now, spittle on her teeth.

There was a shuffle of feet and, after a moment, Eric drew up to full height, hands raised to show that he was unarmed. It was still dark enough that Emma could only make out his silhouette, the moon catching in the whites of his eyes.

“Who’re you?” Teach spat.

“A stowaway, Cap’n,” one of the mutineers ventured.

“Want me to toss him overboard?” another asked.

“I’m sorry,” Eric was replying, “I shouldn’t have snuck aboard. I was just trying to make a fresh start across the sea. But I can sail. I grew up on the sea. I can earn my keep.”

One of the officers drew a pistol and aimed it with a frightening casualness.

What were they supposed to do? Sit by whilst Eric put his life on the line?

“Unluckily for you, I already have a full complement of crew,” the mutinous captain scratched at his bearded chin and gave a shrug, his mouth forming the words of an execution.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, _mate_.” And then Killain was there, two strides from where Teach stood, his pistol raised at the usurper’s head. Teach’s crew turned to look at him in shock. He stood there, all in black with light flashing in his eyes and his smile a feral, vicious thing. Sereia, perched atop his shoulders, hissed wildly, fur bristled.

Emma felt sick with fear for his safety. Certain that one of them would just take a shot at him with no regard at all.

But no one moved.

“So, you’re alive,” Teach breathed at last.

“Oh, I am _so_ much more than that,” Killian snarled back. His face was a thing to behold, carved with unabashed fury so unlike his usual expression. This was the pirate they whispered about in those blood-chilling stories.

“You!” Teach spat, directing his ire on Midge still standing by the gangplank. “You betrayed me!”

Midge straightened, his face looking nothing but proud, “no,” he said, “I never betrayed anyone.”

“So now what, Hook, we just going to stand looking at one another until the sun rises and the local police wander down to take shots at us. Hm?”

Killian’s smile twisted, “no. That’s not what’s going to happen. Before the sun breaches the sea, you’re all going to learn what happens when you cross me.”

And then a shot went off.

Later, Emma would realise that it had likely been fired by accident, but at the time, the sound of it shattering the night jolted fear and action into everyone on ship.

Killian, the widening of his eyes the only sign of his surprise, lurched to the side to avoid being shot by one of the mutineers and, in the next second, Ursula was on her feet. Emma, carried in the moment, leapt to join her, knowing that Tide and the others were too.

And then it was pandemonium.

Emma had known nothing like it in all her life and even weeks of preparation could not have readied her for the frightening close combat on a ship. Tide’s pistol went off, near deafening her, its bullet slamming into one of the officer’s shoulders - sending him twisting to the floor. He was lifting his own pistol to return fire but Emma never saw the result. A bullet whizzed past her ear, hurtling at her from one of the mutineers. His gull daemon flew at her and, with timed precision, Sam sprang from her back, his claws raking her shoulder as he gained height to meet his foe midair, driving the avian to the deck. The officer balked, clutching at his chest.

She felt bile rise as her daemon sank his teeth and claws deep, piercing the little daemon-heart in his clutches. She went out like a candle, her human hitting the deck.

She wanted to be sick. Wanted to scream. But around her all hell was breaking loose. More crew members were starting to join the battle on deck, trying to work out friend from foe in the carnage. Further shots rang out, joined by the terrible sounds of battling daemons. Birds of all types were swarming above their heads, darting around the rigging, dipping and diving, working up the confusion beneath their wings. There was a horrible snarling, the doberman and Eric’s daemon, Max, with their teeth locked around each other. A heavily tattooed man had hold of Eric’s rifle, trying to wrest it from his grip.

Emma raised her gun, trusted her aim, and fired. She caught the tattooed man in the shoulder and he reeled backwards in shock and pain; his daemon’s yelp as deafening as the gunshot.

She tossed the useless pistol aside and, in the following seconds, drew her shortsword - brandishing it in the way that Killian had shown her how. Then with a cry of anger and frustration, she plunged into the fray. Sam was with her, slashing at any daemon that tried to come close. A gull came shrieking down at his head, pecking at him, turning and coming back for a second pass. Emma whipped around to face yet another familiar officer, lifting her blade just in time to block his first strike. But he was stronger, more practised, and she quickly began to lose ground, her arms shaking under the strain of his blows.

Fear crept in.

Sam slashed at the seabird again, drawing only feathers.

“Emma!” It was Tide, still close by.

The officer shoved Emma back, roughly, and she lost her footing, hitting the deck hard, bruising her tailbone. And then he was reaching for his pistol, lifting it, aiming it. But not at her. 

“No!” the scream ripped from her.

Sam twisted to try and snap the gull in his teeth - too late. The gun went off, the shot hitting Tide square in the chest. The impact sent him hurtling backwards, arms raised, head bowed. His little tern-daemon came apart in the air, swirling like dustmotes under the sun, her alarm call snuffed to silence.

Emma screamed again - or tried to - but her throat was too constricted and she could not get the sound out.

It took everything she had to fight against her instinct to drop down and grieve, sharpening that emotion into a hot, white point that she aimed straight at the bastard who had murdered her friend.

Samiran yowled, wild and fierce, and this time he knocked the gull from the air. The officer staggered and Emma, like a viper, lunged at him, driving the sword up into his chest cavity, disgusted and shocked at how easily skin and muscle had given way to the weapon’s cruel point.

The weight of his body falling back aided in freeing her weapon and, shaking and heartsick, she sidestepped to make room for others to get by, nearly tripping over another fallen body, and almost running straight into the point of a knife meant for her. Thankfully her trip had her avoiding the thrust, instinctively reaching out to grab the wrist of her attacker. Her fingers bit hard into tendons and wrenched hard, forcing the hand to release its hold on the knife. Only then did she look up to stare into a familiar face.

One of the female pirates who’d given her wide berth when she’d joined them on the ship. They were not friends by any means, but surely they could fight for the same side now?

“Wait! Ivy! We’re not the enemy!”

The woman blinked, looking suspicious. Her daemon - a poison dart frog - croaked in recognition. “You're the swan girl.”

Emma nodded, “fight with us, not against us. Captain Hook has come to take back his ship.”

Ivy’s eyes widened.

“Please,” Emma replied, not wanting more blood on her hands.

The pirate nodded, turning back towards the rest of the crew just as the calls of ‘Captain Hook’ rose up above the cacophony.

It sounded like Scarlet.

Only then did the atmosphere change. Became confused and hesitant, offering a lull in the fighting whilst pirates figured out who exactly they were supposed to be fighting against.

And then Killian’s voice rang out, bringing an almost unnatural stillness to the proceedings. He’d alighted himself on the lower rungs of the rigging, his hook gleaming gold-orange in the light of the nearby lamps.

Those too far away - Emma included - had clearly missed the beginning of his speech, but now, there was nothing to impede his words.

“Stand aside now. Let him fight me alone. Let him prove to you his bravery and cunning.”

_What?_

This had not been the plan! What was he thinking going up against a man like Teach? Surely he had the skill to do so, but it would have been easier - surely - to just grind them down until they surrendered.

“Or are you too afraid to face me?” He spread his arms and stepped back down to the deck now that he had everyone’s attention.

And like frightened shoals of fish, the crew edged away from Killian as if he were a shark intent on feasting, giving him space. Giving him the stage.

“ _No_ ,” Emma hadn’t meant to speak but the word came out, a distressed sort of whisper, as she shoved forward to see.

Some crew were busy dragging a body out of the way, leaving a thin trail of blood behind.

Emma cast her eyes about, wildly, trying to see who was still standing. With the rest of the crew up on deck it was hard to pick out the faces of her friends. She could see Eric and Ursula and, for a moment, she thought she might have seen Tide - until she realised, with a sick groan, that he was dead. Her eyes darted frantically to try and find Robin or Will or even Smee, but she couldn’t see them. Had they all fallen? Is that why Killian was trying to end this now, rather than drag it out?

No one had ever considered that the cost of regaining the _Jolly Roger_ would be too high. That it might cost them all their lives.

Teach, however, looked disgruntled and cornered. He was clearly not happy to be forced to fight in front of everyone. Knew, clearly, that he’d be at a disadvantage. That he was already losing power just from Killian’s challenge.

“What say you? Are you game? Or are you the coward everyone believes you to be?”

The usurper gnashed his teeth at that, the pale grey light of encroaching dawn settling deep shadows into the lines of his face.

His wolverine daemon, a huge, muscular thing, growled and took a step forward. Emma would have feared it if she hadn’t known that Sereia’s game plan was to stay up out of harm’s way.

Killian levelled his sword and, after a moment, Teach shifted his weight and brandished his own shortsword in return. She expected there might be a bit of back and forth between them, a clash of words as well as steel, but clearly neither of them were in any mood for such an exchange.

Emma blinked and almost missed Teach’s advance - his swings brutal as he closed the gap between him and Killian. Sereia’s claws were sunk deep into her human counterpart’s leather coat, her fur bristled, eyes flashing with the same look in Killian’s.

All their anger and desire focused at the very edge of their blade.

Teach’s wolverine was slavering like a crazed thing but Killian ducked and dodged out of harm’s way, taking little more than a slight nick from the other man’s blade. His face was taut with concentration, though he moved with purpose and fluidity that spoke of how easily he could convert adrenaline into strength.

They clashed again, Killian ducking beneath the swipe, aiming to kick the legs out from beneath Teach. The larger man, however, knew the trick and stepped away from it. Killian was, in no doubt, the more skilled swordsman. He swayed like a whip, narrow and fluid. Yet Teach was a mountain, his features carved from stone, his broad shape set firm against the deck. A powerful, immovable force. Teach swung again, stance strong, and Killian countered them all, making a feint for the usurper’s left. 

After that the blows became more forceful and Emma knew the terrible fear of what would happen if Killian made a single misstep.

\---

But Killian was not even entertaining such thoughts.

The ship rocking sweetly beneath his feet was his by right. He’d been parted from her for too long and there was no way he was going to lose to someone who’d dubbed themselves ‘Blackbeard’. He thrust again - dipping sharply backwards to avoid Teach’s lunge - and slid just inside of his defences.

He heard Sereia’s hiss, felt her breath on his ear as she whispered, “too close. _Focus_.”

He twisted to avoid another lunge, Sereia growling as her weight was thrown dangerously, and felt the answering prick of her claws through the leather of his coat.

He made a few mistakes after that, ignoring Sereia’s hissed warnings. She was too wound up to see what he was doing which would work for the best. If his daemon wasn’t giving away his game plan then no one else would know he had one.

Teach’s sword caught him across the forearm and he backed up immediately, giving ground.

His opponent was clearly heartened by his retreat and the red of blood on his blade, grinning as, behind him, a couple of his followers cheered rowdily.

“I should have stayed behind, that day,” Teach growled, emboldened now, “should have strung you up myself, hung you from that window for everyone to see.”

“That wasn’t the only thing you should have done.” Killian growled, “you should have come after me with all you had. You should have known that, so long as I was alive, I’d come after you.”

“And how’s that working out for you so far?” 

Killian wanted to reply that it was all going according to plan, that he was no way near tiring. That he was luring him into a trap that, in a few minutes, would spring. He edged back a little further, the rigging creaking above his head as he allowed his arm to shake with false fatigue. 

The watching crew shuffled further back away from him, making it clear he was coming to the edge of the circle they had created.

Blackbeard lunged and, effortlessly, Killian twisted to avoid the blade, pivoting as quickly as he could manage, sword up, cutting a line across the usurper’s chest. Blood sprayed where the wound opened and spattered grotesquely onto the deck.

The huge man staggered and Killian wasted no time in pressing the attack, catching him again across his shoulder and arm. Teach stumbled and was scrabbling to regain his feet even as he parried in desperation for his life.

Killian’s assault turned lazy, a grin settling in wide across his face.

“What are you waiting for?” the man spat, his wolverine snapping her teeth wildly.

“You think I’d grace you with a quick death? After all you’ve done?” Killian snarled, straightening.

But the man’s bloodied face contorted into something akin to glee and, in that very moment two things happened simultaneously.

Someone - he thought Emma - was screaming at him to look out. 

And Sereia was seized violently from his shoulders.

The breath ceased in his chest and he whirled, looking up.

That bloody monkey had his daemon. His beautiful Sereia, so feisty and true, now turned wild - twisting and turning - desperate to get her teeth or claws into the beast that had grabbed her. But the blasted thing was holding fast, it's cruel, pink face tight with an intelligent, horrible sort of fury.

“Killian!” It was Sereia calling for help. Then Emma calling again from somewhere close by.

The monkey tightened its grip and, gasping, Killian turned back to Teach, “tell that ape to let her go. _Now_.”

“I don’t think so,” Teach’s face was alight with the taste of victory. His wolverine watched the display with an intent focus, pacing back and forth just below the rigging.

“Throw the runt down here,” Teach called.

But before the monkey could do just that, it’s high-pitched shriek turned into a scream of pain and rage, its grip lessened, nearly falling from its perch, head turning towards her human who had slumped, suddenly into the barrels, the bolt of a crossbow sprouting from his chest. He was gasping, gurgling and the monkey-daemon, forgetting its attack, thrust Sereia aside and leapt down to her dying partner. The cat, hanging in the rigging, looked ruffled and shocked but no worse for wear.

Killian made a mental note to ask Locksley why it’d taken him so long to make the damn shot, before turning back to face Teach for the last time.

His wolverine was still focused on Sereia, her claws clicking against the deck in her agitation. If Teach gained any ground at all, his daemon would be able to get up amongst the ropes. It was good, then, that he had no intention of letting Teach get any closer.

He thought silently to his daemon, _stay where you are. Don’t come down._

She turned and blinked at him. Scoffed.

“It’s over,” Killian retorted sharply, turning to glance around at the crew in the early morning light and pleased to see that nearly all of them looked relieved. Teach, seeming to sense this, edged backwards a little, forcing his wolverine to back away, too.

The wolverine snarled but it was too late.

Other daemons were rallying around, now - those able to get close enough moving directly between Killian and the wolverine. Samiran was there, too, looking more cougar than jaguarundi as he snarled at Teach and his daemon.

For a moment it looked as if the wolverine might attack anyway. Most of the daemons were small and she was built like a small bear, stocky and muscular with sharp teeth and claws.

However, without warning, she jerked to one side and the pair of them started to make their escape, shoving surprised crew-members out of the way and scrambling madly for the gangplank. He shoved a badly wounded Midge to one side and jumped up to the edge of the ship, wavering precariously a moment.

And then he was struck in the hip by a bolt, the impact sending him spiralling dramatically to the deck. He groaned, loud and pained, and struggled to rise. Killian looked up to see Locksley in the crow’s nest, resting the arm of his crossbow against the rail. He gave the man a nod of gratitude.

Sereia dropped down onto his shoulders and only then did Killian advance, purposely taking his time to give off the air of control; schooling his rage until he was hovering over Teach’s prone form. With a grunt, he kicked the older pirate onto his back and pressed the toe of his boot against his neck. 

Sereia drew herself up tall and proud whilst she watched the pure loathing slowly pour into the dark eyes looking up at them.

“I don’t know what I ever did to earn your ire,” Killian hissed, sinking down onto a knee, good hand grasping at the collar at the man’s neck, “but you’re going to regret ever turning on me.” He paused a moment, twisted his hook attachment free and turned it end over end in his right hand. “You know what’s going to happen now.”

Teach’s brow furrowed deeply.

“It’s not going to be quick or painless. You’re going to wish you’d been shot by one of my deckhands during the skirmish. But now that you’re in _my_ possession, it’s only fair that my beloved ship gets a taste of her own revenge. You did her a great disservice.”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

He smiled, a vicious, wolfish smile.

The wolverine lunged forwards, snapping at air, but Killian paid her no heed. She would do him no harm and Sereia was safely out of reach.

He brandished his hook, tight in his palm, and with jaw clenched, drove the cruel point down into the man’s shoulder. He, maybe, relished in the pained cry a little too much, working the point deep enough that it wouldn’t be removed without excruciating pain.

He stood, turning to find Smee hovering at his side, “ah, good timing. Take him away, see to it he’s tied up. He’ll be setting sail with us. Oh, and leave the hook where it is. I don’t want him bleeding out.”

The thought of it sent a twinge of pain in his own shoulder.

Emma stepped into Smee’s spot the moment the man bustled across to organise the restraints for the prisoner. She looked drained and spooked but - with a quick scan - unhurt. She lifted her hand as if to reach for him but seemed to change her mind and let it drop. He cocked his head but her eyes skittered away and before he could make a move towards her, Robin was dropping down from the rigging and asking him where he wanted to rest of the mutineers.

“Round them all up. We’ll deal with them later.”

It turned out that only two of Teach’s most trusted crew had survived the fight. One of the officers who’d attacked his crew at the inn and the bodyguard with the doberman. The dog-daemon was badly wounded, limping along on three legs and sporting a savage bite on her neck. They joined their deposed captain in the bowels of the ship.

Of the others - the crew that had been recruited after the mutiny - Killian was undecided. The ruthless, cautious part of him wanted to just do away with them. He was certainly in that frame of mind when he finally joined his officers on the quarterdeck. Midge, whose leg was now in a splint, was there, too. Emma, who still looked only half-present, was sat with Scarlet - who had clearly suffered some sort of head injury. There’d be a joke to be made of that later, he was sure. Still, there weren’t many among their group who hadn’t suffered some sort of injury. Eric and Ursula had also joined them, as part of the ‘boarding crew’ and the doctor, apparently, was still tending to some of the injured.

“I say we take ‘em, Captain,” Smee started, clearly reading his mind.

He gave a long, world-weary sigh. Part of him had just wanted them all to agree to leave them behind. Just kick them off the ship and take off.

“They’re good lads,” Midge replied, vouching for them. “Green as can be, but hardworking. They shouldn’t have to pay for Teach’s treachery.”

“Hm,” Killian dropped into thought, Sereia flowing into his lap, rubbing her head against his hand. He stroked the silky fur behind her ears, relishing in her answering purr.

“Alright, fine, if there’s no objections, we’ll take them with us. Give them a chance. Now, I know it’s been a long night, but I’d rather us be sailing out of here in case we draw any undue attention. The docks will be bustling soon.”

“Aye-aye,” Most of them returned.

“You alright at the helm, Smee?”

The man pulled his red beanie further down his head and nodded, turning briskly to the wheel. 

“I’ll be up to relieve you, shortly.”

He raised his voice, called every able-bodied man to action, and watched silently as the crew scurried about, checking the rigging and the sails before finally hoisting the anchor.

His eyes shifted to find Swan amongst the hubbub and was surprised to see her coming his way, Sam slinking close at her heels.

Her daemon’s shape seemed sunken and small, body curled in a little as he pressed against Sereia. And then her fingers touched at his palm and he squeezed them reflexively, pulling her into his side, grateful for her presence.

“You done?” she asked, her voice sounding rough. Her tone had him nervous.

“Sorry, love, I’ve got one last thing I need to do.”

She nodded and he turned to look at her, not liking her silence or flat eyes. He leaned across to kiss her hair, afraid of what she might need to say.

“I’ll be back shortly.” And then he was moving onwards, ignoring how Sam mewled in protest as they departed. A selfish part of him had wanted to ask her to come with him, but he certainly did not want to burden her any further. What he had to do next would be anything but enjoyable.

“Keep an eye on Swan, will you?” he asked Scarlet as he passed. The pirate nodded in response.

Ignoring the goings on all around him he descended into the dark, creaking hull of the ship where a number of naphtha lamps had been lit. The doctor was throwing a cover over one of the prone shapes, getting to his feet when he noticed the captain enter.

“This all of them? He asked.

“Yes.”

“And the others? The wounded?”

“Likely they’ll all be fine, sir. Superficial injuries.”

He ran his eyes along the line. Teach had fully-staffed the _Jolly Roger_ , replacing every lost member and adding an additional few. Of those, three were now detained, which meant that the original group of mutineers would soon be eradicated. Six of them lay here, bloodied beneath the sheets. Six bodies rightfully lay here. But there were others, too. Five more crew members lost. Loyal men. Good men.

He moved between each one, lifting the sheets to check the pale, silent faces until he had seen them all.

All of them save two were just lads. Kids whose daemons had not long settled. Two of them he did not recognise and must have been among the new recruits. But the rest…

The older men he had known for years and some of them he had known with fondness.

Tide was amongst them, the young lad who had been so full of life, now waxen and stiff, his tern-daemon lost to the winds. Jack was there, too, his injuries telling of a slow and painful death. And the boy with the weasel daemon was next to him, looking smaller and younger in death than he ever had in life. 

When it was done, he uncovered the mutineers’ bodies and called for them to be dumped unceremoniously into the sea once they were free of the shore and safely in the cradle of his beloved ocean.

Back on deck, the humidity was cut by the sea air, the sails burgeoning greedily overhead. Gulls swept curiously on invisible currents above and there was nary a cloud in the sky. He ascended to the very fore of the ship and leaned against the guardrail, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath.

They were home but the cost had been great.

“There was always going to be a cost,” Sereia murmured from her place on his shoulders.

“Maybe too much, Rei.”

“No one chooses a pirate’s life if they want safety and security,” she continued, nuzzling into the stubble on his cheek.

“Maybe there should have been no fight at all. Maybe I should have challenged him from the start.”

“He wouldn’t have accepted. You had to catch him in the moment. Put him on the spot. Challenging him when you did was a matter of pride. He could have refused, but it would have been in front of the entire crew and not just those loyal to him.”

He knew she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“We’re home, Killian,” the cat replied.

He nodded, though it still didn’t feel quite right. Wouldn’t until the filth had been scrubbed from the wood and the reminder of the mutiny had been cast out.

He needed to find Emma, too.

Sereia was only half correct in saying they were home. He was quickly coming to learn that home was neither a building nor a ship. It was wherever Emma was, and though she was onboard, she had drawn away behind her walls. Nothing would feel right until they were side by side again.

“Smee.”

“Aye Captain?”

He turned to see the stout sailor at the wheel, steadfast as always. The man could be jittery but now, it seemed, he was content.

“Have you seen Swan or Scarlet?”

“They were both here not half hour ago.”

There weren’t many hiding places on the ship and so, with nothing else needing his immediate attention, he set himself the task of locating her. Enquiries amongst the crew, however, brought up nothing and, it was only by chance that he crossed paths with her ascending from the captain’s quarters and onto the deck.

She looked up, their eyes locking, and their daemons rushed to meet each other.

He moved to close the gap between them, glancing past her shoulder and down the steps to where the door to his quarters stood open.

She looked embarrassed. Or hesitant. Like she didn’t belong - and the thought of it felt like a stab in the chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, drawing her into him, his good hand coming to rest in the curve of her lower back, “talk to me.”

Irrational fear gripped him at the panic in her eyes. What was she going to tell him? That she didn’t want to be with him anymore? That she hated being on the ship? That she’d remembered, quite vividly, what it meant to be a pirate and that she wanted none of it?

“Emma,” he pressed.

Sereia had tensed, too, was nuzzling questioningly at Sam’s face.

“Not here,” she wrapped her fingers around the brace where his hook should have been and pulled him down to his quarters - the one place in the ship he had yet to set foot in. It was strange, to think of his bunk being slept in by that mutinous bastard. To see his things out of place, either removed altogether or hidden away. It felt like a violation. But, unless he fancied bunking with the rest of the crew or sleeping out under the stars, he supposed it was something that had to be faced. Why not now? Get it over with.

Somehow, Emma must have sensed the tension in him even with her hold on his brace, because her gaze turned to him again, gentle and placating.

“It’s not so bad,” she murmured.

And she was right.

In a way not much looked different. She’d obviously come here after parting with Smee. The bunk had been stripped and a couple of the chests had been thrown open. He could see his things inside and she’d already started setting things back to how they had been before.

It was ridiculous how much her actions meant. That she recalled the room so well. That she understood what it might feel like to reclaim what was once yours to find it all so amiss. His eyes and throat burned with the contained emotion.

“They asked me to bring you something to eat,” she gestured to the food on the desk but strangely he didn’t feel hungry.

“What’s on your mind, love?”

“It’s silly. I knew what to expect. We were going to battle. Everyone knows what happens in battle. We set out to kill them but I never once considered what it would be like. I’ve seen things. So much suffering and hardship. Seen people dead before, lying in the gutters like unwanted trash. But it’s not the same. It was so...surreal. I was there, crouched in the dark and Tide was with me. Right there. Afraid but alive. So alive. Then it all started and it hit me. What we were doing. The risks we were all taking and he was there and then he was dead, his little daemon just...just gone. Like blowing out a candle.”

He could feel her trembling, her grip on his arm fierce, and so he lifted his right hand to grip hers, squeezing her fingers tight.

“And then you were challenging him and it struck me like a physical blow. Like someone had hold of Sam and was squeezing the life out of him. This horror, creeping and stealing away all my warmth. And I realised what was different. All those other times, those dead people or the ones I was taking aim at. I didn’t give a damn about them. They were nothing to me. I only had to survive. Only had to care about myself and Sam. And then, suddenly, I’m in this situation where all the people I care about are fighting, too. And Tide is...is...is gone and then that daemon had hold of Sereia.”

Her whole body was tense, her face near wild as she relived what she saw from the sidelines. Relived what she was put through. What _he_ put her through.

Sam rubbed against her legs and, with a sniff, she bent to lift him, the jaguarundi pressing himself to her chest, seeking the familiar comfort of their heartbeats pressed together.

“I’ve never had friends. Never been a part of anything except when I was living with Ruby. I can’t...”

He knew, now, what she was faced with. The terrible fear of losing something you loved. That’s why she had chosen to live in that detached state behind all those walls. It was a lonely existence but it was safe.

“Perhaps this life does come with its extra risks,” he replied, gently, “but nothing is ever certain.”

She was silent, head bowed, Sam still pressed fervently to her.

Then after long moments, the jaguarundi wriggled free, landing neatly on his paws, and she fell into his arms. He held her tight, breathing in the scent of her, burying his face into her hair and neck, never wanting to let go. Whispering sweet nothings, whispering nonsense, kissing her hair, listening to her uneven breathing until, eventually, it began to settle.

Eventually, she pulled back and said, “you should eat.”

From anyone else, the sudden shift would have surprised him. But not with her. Never with her. He touched her cheek, encouraging her to look at him, and offered her a small smile when she risked it.

He kissed her gently on her upturned mouth, the words he wanted to speak twisting in his chest.

_I love you._

And maybe she saw it in his eyes because she shied away, edging back to the bed to give him room to pass.

He ate, then, if only to give himself time to broach the subject of what she wanted to do next. He’d have to pick his words carefully. Not appear too pushy or needy or make assumptions. But the food was dry and tasteless and settled uneasily in his stomach. The stench of death was still too fresh, the waxen faces too stark in his memory. He couldn’t finish the meal.

Emma was sitting on the edge of his bunk, running her fingers lovingly through Samiran’s fur. Sereia was draped across his knees, watching them in much the same manner as he was.

Emma dipped her head low, Samiran murmuring something to her, though it was far too low for him to make out. Rei tilted her head a little in response but said nothing.

Eventually Emma spoke again, “I imagine you’ve got lots to do.”

“You trying to get rid of me, Swan?” He kept his tone light and joking but her answering look was of trepidation.

“If you need time, I can give you that, but please, Emma, don’t close up on me.”

She shook her head, “it’s not that. I promise. I just...there’s things I need to say and...if you’ve got things to do…”

“I could see to it that there would be no interruptions.”

She shook her head, “it’s fine. It can wait.”

He wasn’t sure whether _he_ could wait but he was aware, suddenly, that she might need time. Time to collect herself. To put her jumbled thoughts into careful sentences. He wasn’t sure whether it was a good sign or not, but though he didn’t want to wait, it seemed suddenly the sensible thing.

“Very well,”

“I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind.”

He nodded, “I’ll come get you when you’re needed.”

He dithered then, uncertain whether to just leave or whether to coax her again. He bent down to kiss her, emboldened by the way her hand immediately lifted to his cheek.

“You would have told me, wouldn’t you?” He asked Rei as they emerged back on deck, the door closed quietly behind them.

The black cat peeked up at him.

“If you think I should have stayed,” he clarified.

“Yes. Honestly, love, I think there were pros and cons to both. Staying might have been the best thing to do, to catch her in the moment, but...she’s on the brink of something. Giving her space has been effective in the past.”

“But so has pressing her for more.”

Rei leapt up onto his shoulder, using her claws to scramble up the well worn path of his leather coat. “Once the mutineers are dealt with and the new crew addressed, you have all the time you need to draw her in.”

He nodded.

“You should tell her, though,” she prodded.

“She’s ready to hear it?”

“Whether she’s ready or not, she needs to hear it.”

The thought filled him with nervous anticipation. He licked his lips, caught Smee’s eye and indicated for the man to follow. Smee called for someone to take the wheel and, in moments, was hastening to join him, his rat-daemon skittering along to walk beside Sereia.

“Let’s get this done,” Killian said, tone sharp.

Smee nodded - needing no explanation - and, after a moment, Robin moved to join them, too.

Soon this would all be over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is fast approaching now. I estimate maybe two more chapters. These should be posted weekly.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the first part of this chapter contains the type of pirate justice which some readers might want to avoid reading. It's not particularly graphic but if you'd prefer to skip over, search and read from the words: It was done.

Being reunited with his ship was a strange feeling. 

What should have been a celebration was being stamped down beneath duty. Jubilation losing out to a bone-deep weariness that lingered in his shadow as he moved about the familiar planks, barking orders and trying to settle back into routine.

The sky had grown leaden above his head as the day had progressed, the sea churning like an unhappy beast. 

He had watched, strangely detached, as the fierce drag of the waves pulling the weighted, dead mutineers down into its depths.

Then, finally, he had called for Teach and his last remaining followers to be dragged up to the deck, their bodies bruised against the stairs and thrown roughly down at his feet. The ship seemed to come alive beneath the cacophony of shouts and jeers and, in the next moment, Emma was at his side, her fingers curling briefly into his open palm.

One look at her told him all he needed to know. Her face was hard, the green in her eyes turned to steel. She stared down at Teach with all the loathing that he felt, her jaw set, her brow furrowed. She looked, for one moment, so much like her stern daemon, that his heart squeezed with an intense emotion he couldn’t quite name.

“Pin him down,” he said.

The men closest to Teach pressed him to the deck with their boots and Killian crouched next to the man who was waxen and half-crazed in pain. His wrists had been bound behind his back and the wolverine had been entangled in a net and dragged up alongside him. She was growling and slathering, trying to get free but clearly weakened, her back limbs so tangled in the net she’d never escape without aid.

“You look terrible, mate.” Killian began, his tone biting.

“A damn sight better than you did when this little scenario was reversed,” Teach growled out, clearly determined not to go quietly. “You think I forgot? How you whimpered like some broken, pathetic dog.”

Killian smiled, exhaling slowly through his faked amusement, “oh, I remember alright. I remember your cowardice. Couldn’t even stay to finish the job.”

Teach spat at him and the act had its desired effect.

White, hot rage coursed through him, his fist connecting to the side of Teach’s face. A burst of pain flared in his knuckles and the wolverine raged against her bonds.

Some of the other daemons were edging closer to her, pecking and tugging at her fur, taunting the daemon they would never have dared approach under other circumstances.

“I’ll take my hook back now,” Killian murmured, his voice turned deceptively soft.

And then, taking hold of the hook still embedded in the man’s shoulder he began the slow process of removing it, twisting back and forth to work the curved metal out of his flesh.

To his credit, the man only gritted his teeth and bore it without a sound, the only signs of his pain the clenched jaw and the trembling tension that seemed ready to shake his body apart. The wolverine was making horrendous sounds, however, thrashing and near mad with pain and rage. The bird daemons who had been harassing her, flapped back, still wary.

And when the hook came free, Killian took a moment to wipe the blood across the man’s shirt, before reattaching it at the end of his left arm.

Blood pumped sluggishly from the wound left behind.

“You know what happens now. Any last words?”

Killian lifted his eyes to nod at his crew, some of them moving forwards with the rope.

“Let me see her,” Teach spat. “Let me be with my Kal.”

“No,” Killian retorted and then, drawing himself up to full height, he stepped back and waited, looking on as the rope was tied around the prone mutineer, the wolverine’s net fastened around his ankles so that she couldn’t be dragged out to sea and bless him with a quick death.

Teach, seemingly, was prepared to see his end in a somewhat graceful manner. Not fighting as the crew dragged him to the side of the ship to await his cruel death.

But first; his followers.

One by one, they were shoved off the side of the ship, their daemons scrabbling to join them, the doberman leaping after his broken master, hitting the waves in a desperate rush. For a minute they fought to stay afloat, the dog-daemon tugging fiercely at his human until the man went still and sank beneath the waves. The doberman ducked its head after him...and never re-emerged.

The next man lasted longer, his gull daemon turning panicked circles above his head, until, quite suddenly, she was no longer there.

Smee, who had been watching through his spyglass, nodded affirmation. 

“It’s done, Captain.”

Only then did Killian give the signal and, with no hesitation, Captain Blackbeard himself was shoved over the side of the boat followed by the sound of his body hitting the sea as the rope pulled him under.

His fingers closed instinctively around Emma’s, but that was the only outward sign of the turmoil inside. He’d always known this was the way things would end. That Teach had to be made an example of. It was expected. For mutiny, there could be nothing else. And if he’d hesitated. Shown him a more merciful end, it would have been viewed as weakness. Would not have sealed his authority.

Knew, too, that if he had lost the duel, it would be him at the end of that rope instead.

But whilst Killian stood, stoic and unmoving, some of the crew were enjoying the show - jeering and goading as Teach finally surfaced, the rope pulling both him and the wolverine clear. They would give him a moment before he was forced to make another pass.

“There was no other way, Captain,” Smee spoke from his other side.

“I know, Smee. I will not have another mutiny on my hands. Not ever.”

They were dragging Teach back on board, his body near broken against the rough surface of the keel. A bloody monstrosity. The wolverine had gone very still in the net now and Killian knew, just from the look of her, that they wouldn’t survive the second round.

He was right, of course. The second time they pulled the man up, the net tied to his ankles hung empty and, unceremoniously, Teach was cut loose and tossed into the waves.

Killian wanted nothing more than, in that moment, to sleep. The exhaustion hit him with a suddenness that had him staggering a little.

It was done.

But that wasn’t quite true. He still had to address the crew, old and new, and make some preparations for those who had fallen that morning.

Emma, who had been a wordless presence at his side since she had emerged, tugged at his hand and he turned to see that a softness had returned to her eyes.

“Do you know what you’re going to say to them?”

“I rarely tend to plan these things, love.” Which was true enough. He’d always been good at stringing words together, though admittedly he didn’t think he’d ever felt so exhausted.

He hoped it didn’t show as he alighted himself to address the crew, casting his gaze over faces both familiar and unknown. There was a mix of emotions rolling off of them. Relief being the foremost, but he could sense some trepidation, too. 

Well, it was time to put that aside.

“Most of you know me, but, for the benefit of those that don’t, I’m going to lay it out for you now. Some of the stories you have heard about me are false but others are quite true. I’m a survivor and, as you have now witnessed, without mercy for those who wrong me and my crew. Every one of you standing on deck now are here because you sided with me or because you had no involvement in Teach’s treachery. Those of you who were recruited by him during my...leave of absence...are being given an opportunity to prove yourselves. If you work hard and stay in line, you will be given all the riches and experience promised to you. As captain, all I desire in return is your loyalty. Working aboard this ship is by no means easy, but it will be fruitful.

“Anyone who has since lost the taste for piracy can get off at the next port, no questions asked. Cause me trouble, however, and you may not find your departure so sweet.

“My officers are as follows. Smee reinstated to quartermaster. Locksley reinstated to sailing master. Scarlet reinstated as boatswain. Miller now works under the official title as surgeon of the ship. With this in mind, some crew will be shuffled into new roles depending on their experience. This will be decided in the coming days.

“Our immediate attention will be given to integration of the crew and a send-off for our dead. We’ll be weighing anchor shortly before sunrise to see that the latter is done in a timely fashion.

“In the meantime, Smee will be drawing up a new watch rota. All new crew please report to him immediately.

“If anyone has any questions that can’t wait until morning, speak to one of the reinstated officers.” He paused then, glad that the official business had been done.

“Those of you not on watch, take this opportunity to recover and evaluate. It’s been a trying day and all of us lost friends today, myself included.” He paused, glancing around the faces, and then in a more light-hearted tone, dismissed them. The flurry of conversation was a pleasant enough sound as he retreated to his quarters. A quick glance told him that the newest recruits were already lining up to speak with Smee. Locksley was at the helm. Scarlet and Midge stood watch.

“Not my best work,” he mumbled to Rei.

“You can bolster them later, you said the right thing. Too much charm isn’t right after losing so many.”

He let the door close behind him and kicked off his boots, dropping into the chair with a groan. He should probably have tried to sleep but the noise up on deck and all the other jobs were niggling at him. His body couldn’t relax.

Rei leapt onto the table and he laid out the register that Teach had kept.

Fully staffed, the _Jolly Roger_ could hold thirty-five men and women in total and it seemed that a full crew is how Teach preferred to run things. Numbers were certainly helpful, but he wondered if the new crew might just be that. Quantity over quality. Only time would tell, he supposed.

He went through the listing, scratching out the names of the deceased as he went. Thankfully, Teach had been competent enough with his record-keeping and had also kept, alongside the sailors, the names and species of their daemons.

He scratched out Teach’s name first, then worked through the officers, all of which were now dead. Monkey. Doberman. He crossed out their names one by one. Firstly the mutineers. Then the poor sots who had been taken out during the skirmish.

Of Teach’s fully-manned crew, twenty-three now remained. With Killian and his crew now returned, their numbers were brought up to a hefty thirty-four, though he fully expected some of them to go their own way upon arrival at the next port.

He drew out a fresh register and started with his own details. Rank. Name. Daemon name. Daemon species. Next came the names of his officers. After that, the list became uncertain. Midge certainly deserved some recognition after his part in all of this and Emma. What of Emma? He was pondering on it when there was a light tap at his door.

“Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” he called gruffly, not wanting to be disturbed when he was reaching the very end of his limit for the day.

To his agitation, the door opened, though the emotion was forgotten the moment Emma’s blonde head peeked around the door.

“I’m not sure it can wait that long.”

“Emma,” he dismissed his words with the flick of a hand, “not you. Bloody hell, woman, I don’t expect _you_ to knock.”

Her features flicked through a number of different emotions, finally settling on uncertainty.

“You really do look like crap,” she replied, “maybe it can wait.”

“I’m listening, love.”

“What I was saying earlier. Or...what I was trying to say,” she had moved to sit on the edge of the bunk, wringing her hands together, head bowed. Sam was looking agitated, shifting his weight and bristling.

“I can’t...I…” she paused, swallowed, and silence reigned heavy.

“It’s okay. You can tell me. You can’t…?”

She darted her eyes up to him, nervous, but made no attempt at continuing.

“You can’t...stay?” he hoped that he didn’t look as broken as he sounded, though his exhaustion was making him more emotional than he would have been normally. Hell, maybe this should have waited until the morning.

But Emma was looking dolorous.

“Then you want to stay?”

“You don’t want me to?”

He shook his head, laughing humourlessly, “I think...I don’t understand at all what you’re trying to say, love. After how you were, earlier, I thought maybe you were having second thoughts about joining up with pirates.”

“I’m not afraid of a fight. I just…”

Sam had moved then, rearing up to set his paws against her knee, nudging at her twisting hands.

“I can’t lose you,” she finally burst out, “it would break me.”

“Emma…”

Her head was bowed so low now that her hair had fallen forwards across her face. Even so, he did not miss the tear that left a dark circle on the fabric on her knee.

“I...I can’t lose you. There would be no recovering from it.”

Only then did he shift out of his chair, dropping to a knee before her. Sam shifted away so that he could take her hands, taking heart in how she gripped his hand and hook with a force that turned her knuckles white.

“I spent years alone, keeping everyone at a distance, taking off the moment that things started to feel too settled. Too friendly. Abandoning people before they could abandon me. But then you had to come along and ruin it all. You with your stupid face and your swagger. Your surprising gentleness and the layers of blue in your stupid, stupid eyes. You pushed against my defenses the moment I set eyes on you. Years of solitude and hiding, and you brought it all down in a matter of weeks.”

“As long as all that?” he murmured, “I thought I had you from the get-go.”

She peered up at him through the tresses of her sea-tangled hair and knew he’d spoken the truth - much as she would be loath to admit it.

“There’s no shame in it, love. They tell me I’m extraordinarily charming.” His smile - momentarily teasing - turned soft, and he knew then, that this was his moment. Weary and disheveled, cooped in his reclaimed cabin, this was what he had been waiting for.

“I think I loved you the moment I heard you in that cell, talking of making a stand against the Magisterium. And when I saw you again, in that store-room, and recognised your voice...it felt like fate.”

She blinked at him, rapidly, her eyes wide and beautiful in the low lamplight. Her brow furrowed, very slightly, as if trying to contain her expression, but he felt her hands tighten, felt them tremble.

“Love?” she whispered as if she could scarcely believe it.

Had she really not seen it?

“Aye. Truly.”

She closed her eyes and he could see her drawing in her strength and, for a single moment, he thought he might get to hear her return the endearment.

What she said instead was: “please don’t leave me.”

It was a confession, of sorts. The closest one they would get to today, he realised.

“Never,” he replied. “I love you, Emma.”

And there it was, that forbidden thing, finally spoken. The tension of those weighted words now light and open between them.

Her hands slipped free of his grip, then, rising to rest against the sides of his face and though it would have been nice for her to have returned the words, he saw all he needed to in her gaze.

\---

He loved her.

It should have terrified her. Sent her running. She had known, deep down, of course. Could hardly pretend otherwise - not with the way he was around her - but hearing it was another thing entirely. He’d taken that risk. Meant to seal them together as a team. As a pair.

And, for one crazy moment, she had felt those words mirrored on her own tongue, until they stuck like sandpaper and refused to be sounded out.

It was ridiculous. Emma knew that. It wouldn’t make her feelings any more or less real if she told him she loved him, too, but...it scared her. To just lay herself bare like that. Those little words were world-changers. World-destroyers, on occasion. 

She had loved before and where had that gotten her? Pregnant and thrown into a jail cell.

But Killian was different. He’d actively devoted himself to keeping out of jail. Had had to make sacrifices to keep her from being spotted by the authorities. And, pregnancy was not a possibility when she was so meticulously careful with her birth control. She was not a stupid kid anymore but, on the crest of this momentous reveal, she felt like one.

_Killian is not Neal._

So she said nothing, just stared at him as she cradled his face in her hands and hoped that he could see what she was trying to convey.

His blue eyes were intense but ringed with patience and, when she could bear it no longer, she drew him closer and kissed him, pressing the first to the corner of his mouth before sliding her lips fully over his and drawing him closer.

And what had started out as a simple press of lips deepened only a few seconds later, her mouth opening on a groan to meet his eager tongue which delved unquestionably into her mouth. The thrill of the sensation drove a bolt of pleasure through her, settling with a heavy ache between her legs. His teeth found her bottom lip, tugging, and her hands eased down the smooth skin of his neck to curl around his shoulders, encouraging his body to shift over hers. He complied fluidly, his hand and hook pivoting her easily by the hips until she was nestled between the unmade bunk and the warmth of his body.

She fully expected him to start removing clothing, then, but he made no move to do so, his focus seeming to be firmly on her mouth.

It had been a long time since they had had the freedom to kiss like this; with the time and want to just enjoy the moment. It reminded her of the night she had finally sought him out for ‘one night’ when she had been in his lap learning every contour of his mouth.

They parted with a quiet smack of lips, the sound sending a shiver of want right down to the curl of her toes. Her hands were back on his face again, sliding against the stubble on his jaw and up into the softness of his dishevelled hair. He made a pleasured sound, panting softly between the infinitesimal gap between their kiss-roughened lips.

And then he was kissing her again, deep and slow and ridiculously arousing.

He touched against her jaw, stroked his fingers against the soft skin beneath her ear and proceeded to press open-mouthed kisses against her parted lips.

She groaned with need, shifting beneath the drape of his body to bring him in line with her. His breath turned shaky and he broke the kiss to suck in a deep breath only for her to rise to meet him and draw him back into it again.

He gave a guttural sound that reverberated through her mouth and against her tongue, her arms wrapped around him, fingernails turned in against his shirt.

“Too. Many. Clothes.” She uttered each word between kisses, gasping for air with each of them.

He only groaned in response, his forehead coming to rest on the bed, clearly needing to take a moment. She turned her head, kissing his cheek, smiling with fond amusement.

“You alright there, pirate?”

He shook his head against the pillow and she nuzzled up against his neck, relishing in the heat of his skin, he tasted like salt and sun on her lips.

And when he turned and their kissing resumed, she felt him fumbling at her waistband and she wasted no time in aiding him, wrestling to get themselves as free as they could in the seconds they had, pulled down just enough to give them the access they needed.

Revelled, a few moments later, at how quickly he came apart, feeling both powerful and desirable for having done that to him. For pushing him prematurely over that edge of control.

Laughing when he sheepishly encouraged her to follow after, letting her body slowly relax against the bed, the weight of him solid and unmoving. Their breathing slowly evening out.

And then, when he eventually turned to look at her, he cast her a boyish grin that filled her heart with delight.

“Apologies, my love. I fear I’m losing my stamina.”

“Or perhaps,” she replied, voice husky, “it’s just that I’m getting more attractive.”

His answering smile was beautiful, “aye, I do believe that could be a factor.”

She sighed contentedly, stroking the sweaty hair back away from his forehead, “I think kissing you is my new favourite foreplay.”

He crooked an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, though he had still made no attempt at moving off of her.

“I don’t really fancy moving, right now,” he said.

“Then don’t,” she replied simply.

“We should get cleaned up.”

“Just stay,” she continued, rolling with him until they were on their sides, facing one another. Sleepily, they wriggled out of the clothes that had gotten stuck around their knees and ankles and settled more comfortably together.

She played with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, aware of his eyes on her as she slid a hand inside the fabric until the flat of her palm was pressed against the firm muscles on his back.

“Do you want your brace off?” she whispered against his mouth, smiling at his answering nod. And then she was undoing the straps and tugging gently on his hook until the whole contraption came loose.

“Behind me,” he said, sounding more asleep than awake.

She set it on the shelf behind him, hook turned away in case he did himself an injury in the night, then finally snuggled in to sleep.

\---

Surprisingly, Killian was still asleep when she woke. 

So often he would be awake and ready before she’d even started stirring and that alone spoke volumes. He was completely exhausted, the previous day and the lead up to it having taken its toll. The preparations. The fighting. The dealing with the mutineers. Rallying the troops. His worrying over her.

All of it chipping away at him.

But now? Now his breathing was deep and rhythmic, his brow smooth. Their work was not done. Would likely never be done. But he’d earned his rest. Would let him have it.

Sereia was tucked up snug against his back, her chin hooked over his neck, looking equally as sweet and peaceful.

Emma smiled, peering over her shoulder to glance at Sam who was yawning widely down the foot of the bunk.

She shifted very slightly, easing her knee out from between his legs and stretching them out, forcing her daemon to move to one side..

Then, as if someone outside had sensed her movement, there came a light tap at the door.

She froze, heart pounding. Maybe if she ignored whoever it was, they’d go away?

The knock sounded again, a little louder, and this time Killian stirred, his face creasing with discomfort until he saw her watchful gaze. Then he was kissing her, warm and seductive, and she - with some reluctance - had to break away and say: “someone’s knocking.”

“Shit,” he mumbled, climbing over her legs and grabbing at his discarded clothes.

There was another knock just as he was fastening his belt, turning briefly to regard her with some amusement.

“Just how terrible do I look?”

“Pretty terrible,” she smiled back. He did look rather disheveled in the truest sense of the word. His hair was more scruffy than carefully tousled. His clothes were crumpled and stained from the previous day's struggles and his unwashed eyes were smeared with yesterday’s kohl.

Still, Emma thought he was the most attractive man she had ever laid eyes on - not that she’d tell him that, of course.

He opened the door, glad that it blocked her from view as she struggled to get one leg into her loose trousers, hopping comically a moment as she hauled them up over her hips.

Killian leaned back to make sure she was decent before taking a step back, followed by Smee who gave her a cursory look. His face burned red and, self-consciously, she tried to smooth her hair down with her fingers, despairing at the amount of tangles she’d have to work out.

“How long until we reach the cove?” Killian asked, momentarily rummaging through the rolled maps to find the one he needed, setting it about with weights to keep it flat.

“The weather is fair. Another hour, Captain.”

“Don’t have them brought up until we arrive. Is Locksley at the helm?”

“Ivik is.”

“Have one of the lads bring water. Get Locksley to take over from Ivik. He knows the spot.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Smee hustled out quickly and Emma waited until his steps had faded before speaking. “You have a place in mind for the burials?”

He nodded, “aye, secluded. Deep waters.”

“All of them will be buried at sea? What about their families?”

“That’s the thing about this life, love, no one really has much family and even if they did, it’d often take too long to bring the body back. Better to bury them in the place they lived and loved and send letters and keepsakes back to the family.”

“What about the families of the mutineers?” she asked, thinking of the pirate’s wife who Will had been messing around with. Sure, she’d been committing adultery but...they were still wed.

“If other crew members want to send word, I won’t stop them but they won’t hear it from me.”

She understood. They’d wronged him and brought it on themselves but...still...it felt a little harsh. The families had not made the decision to engage in mutiny.

They heard the hastening steps approaching the cabin and a hurried knock.

“Come in,” Killian called, his voice sounding sharp.

The deckhand, one of the newcomers, shuffled warily into the room, carrying a large wooden, two-handled bucket. He blinked owlishly at them, his daemon was a grey squirrel, who was regarding the captain in much the same manner.

“Just leave the water there, lad,” Killian replied, his voice sounding less irritated, “off you go.”

The boy gave a nod and darted away.

“You scared the poor boy,” Emma laughed.

“I didn’t recruit him.”

“Still, you remember how Teach was with the deckhands before. He likely promised them riches and adventure and gave them hell instead.”

Killian sighed but didn’t argue. He stripped instead, washing himself vigorously, leaving soapy puddles on the floor beneath his bare feet. He dried himself hastily and moved to dress as Emma took her turn, borrowing his soap this time, lathering her hair generously so that the suds trailed down her body.

She was aware of Killian’s rapt attention, peering across at him, shivering a little at the look he was giving her.

His face was carved with ardor but, instead, he simply smiled and said, “get one of the lads in here to clean up after.” Then Sereia leapt up onto his shoulders and he was gone.

She washed quickly after that, rinsing her hair and twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck. She’d brush it later when there was more time - it would take too long to tackle now, though she dreaded to think what another day in the sea air would do to it.

She dressed in a faded blouse that she tucked into her favourite wide-legged trousers and paused to hug Samiran briefly to her, stopping short of squealing with delight.

“He loves me, Sami,” she murmured into his fur.

The cat seemed entertained at her use of his more ‘cutesy’ nickname, “I’ve known that for ages, Emma.”

She blinked, “what?”

“Sereia told me a while back and...well...she asked me not to tell you, but really, I thought it was obvious.”

“Keeping secrets now?” Emma huffed.

“What, you would have preferred the declaration to come from me instead of him?” If Samiran had been human she could see how deadpan his face would have been in that moment.

“Fine,” she grumbled, not wanting to outright agree with him and, together, they ascended up into the bright morning, the sun near blinding her.

And whilst she waited for her eyes to adjust, she gave pause at the somber mood on deck.

Right...because, even though the morning was bright and the weather was fair, their task ahead was not. They were burying their own today, some of whom she knew well. She thought of Tide, so alive and young, now nothing but a soulless body below deck.

It could have been any of them, but it had been him. And Jack. And Jay, that poor lad who’d gotten himself unwittingly involved in dangerous politics.

She thought of the deckhands, joking and teasing. Their easy laughter. Their easy acceptance. How they’d made her feel a part of something. Of a little family she’d chosen for herself. Or maybe...that they had chosen her to be a part of theirs.

Her throat tightened as she realised that she’d never get to laugh with them again. Tried to hastily shut the feeling away.

She could see Killian up on the quarterdeck with Robin and Will, but decided to mingle, instead. Some of them were looking pensive, others a little lost. Eventually she joined Eric and Ursula, who were speaking with a couple of pirates Emma was familiar with.

“Horrible business, this,” one of them was saying. He was Cookson, ironically quite often involved in food prep. Emma had spoken with him quite often in the early days when she’d sought out Ashley’s company.

“Everyone dies, some of us sooner than others,” Ursula replied, sounding unaffected.

Emma was deeply curious about the woman and wished, somehow, she could coerce her into a conversation that might give her some deeper insight.

It was Eric who noticed her first, giving her an honest smile.

“How are you holding up?” He asked.

“I’m okay,” she lied, “I didn’t know them all that long but...they didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

“It’s a damn shame,” Eric continued.

“Well, they won’t be the last,” Cookson continued, “let’s not pretend otherwise. Comes with the territory. If it ain’t pirates, it’ll be armed merchant ships or the navy or some other fierce sea-siren. People in our line of work don’t often see retirement.”

“I don’t know about that, old man,” Ursula replied smoothly, “you look nearly there yourself.”

“You watch your tongue. I count myself lucky.” He rubbed his fingers across his grey beard and turned his head at shouts from somewhere behind them. “What in the blazes? Blasted kids,” he grumbled under his breath and stalked out in the direction of the mishap.

Emma watched him go for a moment before taking his space in the huddle, turning her eyes back to the new crew members. 

“Are you planning to stay, when all this is over?” she asked.

“I’m planning on it,” Eric replied easily, “if I wasn’t convinced before, I am now. This is where I should be. The crew is good, there’s some real experience amongst the sailors. And the ship? She’s a beauty.”

Emma was pleased about that.

“What about you?” Emma asked Ursula, going for the direct approach.

The woman crossed her arms and leaned against the guardrail, looking pointedly disinterested, “I have yet to decide.”

“Oh?”

She said nothing more and Emma took that as dismissal.

“So why piracy?” she turned back to Eric. “You’ve clearly got the knowledge and the nature for something a little more legal. A little safer.”

He sighed and she saw he had a story there. Maybe even an interesting one. It was wrong to push it now so she followed up, hastily.

“Actually, don’t worry about it. We all have our reasons, right? All of us are either running away or towards something. I think that’s what I like about it, here. Kindred spirits. Unsettled characters with a difficult past or a sheer longing for something more.”

“Which of those categories do you fit into?” Ursula asked, taking her by surprise.

“A little of both,” Emma admitted, surprising even Samiran who had not expected her to give an answer. Still, if she wanted to learn more about the newcomers, maybe it would be a good idea to divulge a little first. They didn’t need to know details, but maybe it’d make them feel comfortable.

Maybe it would even earn her some friends.

The other pirate, Ivik, who had been listening in, straightened and nodded his head across the deck, drawing all of their attention.

“Getting ready to drop anchor, by the looks of it.”

“Better get to it, then,” Eric replied, his daemon bounding a couple of strides ahead of him.

Emma followed after and, within ten minutes, the whole crew was up on deck, some of them carrying the bodies, each of them carefully wrapped and weighted so that the sea would draw them down into her watery embrace.

She shouldered her way through the crowds until she had joined Scarlet, Alex and Midge at the front of the gathering. Scarlet clapped her on the shoulder, squeezing briefly in a surprisingly welcome gesture of comfort.

\---

The ‘burial’ was a short ceremony, the five deceased sent to the depths one at a time, carried by volunteers and lowered respectfully into the waves. Some of the crew spoke, too. The deceased’s closest friends amongst a wider family.

And they were family. Perhaps the only family that mattered to these ragtag folk.

The fallen weren’t just being tossed into the sea forgotten. They were being returned to it, overlooked by the ones they had worked, played and fought beside.

She bit down on her own tongue to stop herself from getting drawn into the emotional atmosphere, standing stern and still until it was over. And, to her surprise, when they finally weighed anchor it was not to depart, but to move further inland so that their ship would be obscured by the crescent-shaped cove. Clearly, it was a favoured retreat for the _Jolly Roger_ and her crew and though she knew little about seafaring she could tell why.

It felt secluded, gave the illusion, at least, of safety.

A quick glance told her that Killian was still busy speaking with Locksley and Smee, so Emma took her midday meal with the deckhands, finding no small comfort in the banter of the young lads (and the one girl) who acted more courteous when she joined them - until Alex told them not to bother.

“Emma’s one of us,” he’d said with a grin, his seabird-daemon squawking in agreement.

And, after a time, the banter became relaxed and teasing and they berated her for her knot-tying skill (or lack thereof) and Samiran snarled in jest at all of them, their bird-daemons scattering in fearful delight. 

The drinking began mid-afternoon, the barrels uncorked and ale flowing with abandon. The youngest of the crew were already too deep into their cups and Emma watched with amusement as Smee and Midge chased them off from imbibing any further. 

She also watched as some of the lower-ranking crew snuck them drinks when the officers weren’t looking.

It was clear there were going to be some very hungover crew members on the morrow.

Ivik and his oystercatcher-daemon were loudly chatting up an aloof looking Ursula beneath the foresails. The deckhands were flouncing about, their laughter near infectious. Even the young, female deckhand looked ready to burst her sides from laughing.

Scarlet and Midge were reclined against the rigging, well into their cups.

And, wherever Emma turned, she saw familiarity and friendship and felt quite caught in the moment. She’d not had much to drink but perhaps the ale was stronger than she had thought. She dashed the tears from her eyes and almost collided with Eric who was deep in conversation with the cold-eyed Ivy.

“You looking for the Captain?” Eric asked.

“No. Just...soaking in the atmosphere.” She knew where Killian was. He had spent much of the day up on the quarterdeck with Locksley, though their moods had lightened as the day had progressed. Even now she could hear his muffled laughter and knew that, despite all they had faced, they would keep fighting. Keep surviving.

Emma sat and let the atmosphere wash over her. Watched the crew. Watched the sea. Lost herself in the ever changing colours of the sky. The strip of blue bruising as the sun dipped, taking away the brightness and replacing it with muted tones.

Killian joined her a few moments later, the press of his shoulder a welcome weight that she leaned into.

“You alright, love?”

She nodded wordlessly, then looked up at him. There was a haze in his blue eyes that spoke of alcohol, his smile - though always bright when done with genuinity - had a laziness about it.

“Just how much have you had to drink?”

His grin widened further, his hand disappearing into his coat to retrieve his flask.

“Should have known.”

“I’ve got the good stuff stashed away,” he replied, waving it in front of her nose until she took it and drank, the heat of the rum setting a fire down her throat and settling with delightful warmth in her belly.

“Don’t let the crew know you’re holding out on them,” she warned teasingly, tapping his nose with a finger.

He lowered his head, kissing her greedily, his fingers working the flask from her grasp before he pocketed it. Her now freed hand came round to settle against the bare curve of his neck, holding him to her for a little longer and relishing in his delighted hum.

“Something’s going on,” Samiran interrupted, bumping against her leg.

She blinked open an eye and, sure enough, Ivik was pestering at Ursula, pulling on her wrist. To her surprise, the usually reticent woman seemed to be allowing it, following him across the deck. He was seemingly beseeching her, bowing and smiling and placating. Whatever the pirate was saying, it was clear it was working. Emma’s eyes widened to see the brief uptick of the woman’s mouth and then, she relented and stepped lightly to where some crates had been set to one side. She alighted with a flourish and Ivik hurried about, finally bequeathing her a violin.

Emma looked across at Killian, realising he did not seem at all surprised, and opened her mouth to ask him.

He shook his head, “just listen.”

And listen she did.

For a moment Ursula’s hand wavered, the long, testing, notes of the violin shivering in response. And then, as if turning on a switch, the austere woman pulled magic from that battered old instrument. The pirates cheered and everyone paused in what they were doing to listen to the haunting notes, joined a moment later by her even more haunting voice; long and low and infinitely sad. A fitting song for a wake, she supposed, reminding them all of all they had lost.

Ursula had barely finished her song when Ivik was striking up a new rhythm on a flat drum and, effortlessly taking her queue, shifted into something livelier.

It didn’t take long before some of the crew were up on their feet, staggering clumsily as they danced. The first song led into another with a similar pacing and, by the next, Killian was getting to his feet and offering her his hand, his eyes telling her all she needed to know.

“Me?”

He laughed at that, “who else, love? It’s either you or Smee and I know who I’d prefer.”

“I can’t dance,” she insisted.

“There’s really nothing to it. Besides, look around you, Swan. _No one_ here can dance.”

She laughed at that. It was a fair point. She set her hand into his with more confidence than she felt and let him pull her out across the main deck, spinning her once before allowing her to settle in his arms. And if they looked in anyway graceful, she was certain it was all his doing, because all she could do was let him pull her around, like she was a puppet and he held all the strings.

“ _You_ can dance,” she breathed, grinning up at him with a giddiness she knew was only partially down to the alcohol.

“Aye, a little.” his eyes twinkled, reflecting the swell of the sunset.

He twirled her in against him again, laughing as she collided into him and swept her into a bouncing step that lasted until the song came to an end. 

“Hey, mate,” Will was there, tapping his captain on the shoulder, “can I steal her for a bit?”

Killian laughed, entrusting her hand into Scarlet’s and bidding them both good luck.

Emma, stunned, could only watch the laughter in his eyes as Scarlet led her into another dance. It became clear almost immediately that he was letting his confidence lead his steps, the pair of them making utter fools of themselves, tripping over one another and near suffocated by their laughter.

“Hey, Scarlet. She’s wasted on you.”

And before the song had truly ended, Midge had vouched for her, leading her through some simple steps that he’d clearly tried to memorise from somewhere.

She was aware of others dancing around her, of the young female deckhand and Ivy being vied after. Others simply danced alone or clapped and sang along, whilst others jokingly danced with each other.

And then the songs shifted into sea shanties and the dancing - thankfully - came to an end, giving way to drunken singing and the slow roundup of the evening. 

Emma, exhausted, went to join Killian once more, Samiran collapsing wearily against the deck, purring at Sereia’s attentions. She leaned into him heavily, her eyes casting out across a crew growing more subdued as the time passed. Some of them were still drinking but, by now, many had retreated to their bunks and hammocks, already nursing the beginnings of an alcohol-induced headache.

“So how did you enjoy your first pirate wake?” Killian spoke quietly, his cheek resting atop her head.

“Oh, is that what this was?” she replied, her voice sounding slightly slurred.

She felt him laugh in response, “aye. Damn good one it was, too.”

“It was a good send off,” she replied.

His arm came around her and, after a moment, Samiran left Rei to curl up on her lap, nudging at her hand until she settled her palm against the flat of his head.

“You sleeping, Swan?”

“No,” she mumbled, tucking herself closer, “just resting my eyes.”

She heard his laugh rumble inside his chest and smiled, letting the warmth of him seep into her bones. 

Despite Ursula having long given up on singing and the violin, some of the crew were still singing drunkenly on the main deck, their tuneless shanties interspersed by jeers or laughter. 

When she opened her eyes again it was dark, all but a couple of the torches snuffed out. She could hear Killian conversing, the sound of his voice deep beneath her ear. But, except for the few voices around them, there was nothing else except the gentle rush of the sea. It had to have been late.

“It’s decided on, then?” The voice was Smee’s.

“We’ll make port and sell the valuables Teach managed to scratch together. Without taking a look, I’m not sure what it’ll be worth, but it should cover the crew’s wages.”

“If we choose one of the larger towns, we’d get a better price. Might land some good contracts.” Smee ventured.

“You know why we can’t do that just yet.” Robin replied.

“We’ll need to take the risk sooner or later, won’t we?”

“Later would be preferable,” Killian returned.

“So, which port?”

“Let’s start with one of our more familiar haunts. We can ask around the usual suspects, collect tips and maybe contracts, too.”

“Aye. We’re but one day sail from our closest,” Robin pointed out, “but, let’s go a little further just to be on the safe side.”

“Agreed. Plot our course, Locksley. Report to me come morning.”

The officers continued to chatter but then she felt Killian’s hand squeezing her shoulder, shaking very gently.

“Swan, let’s go.”

She groaned and drew away from him so that he could stand, accepting his aid in getting to her own feet. Samiran staggered wearily by her feet but she was too tired to scoop his weight up off of the floor.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his breath warm in her hair. Groggily, she allowed him to lead her back to his cabin where - thankfully - the deckhands had tidied and made the bed. She fell against the fresh linen with a groan of relief, feet hanging off the bed, smiling against the pillow as she felt him unlacing her boots and removing them one by one. Smiled, still, as she heard the rustle of clothing being removed and then his complaint at her ‘taking up too much room’.

She summoned the last of her strength and rolled over, the thin mattress dipping beneath him. Then he was there, drawing her back in, his fingers turning idle circles over the base of her spine.

She slept.


	12. Chapter 12

She woke with a groan, finding Killian already gone, likely up with the sun. Outside she could hear the shrill sounds of gulls. She sat, swinging her legs over the side, and groaned at her body’s protest. She wasn’t hungover - she’d been careful not to over indulge - but her muscles strained from the dancing.

She clearly needed to exercise more.

She found the bowl of water on the table and splashed some on the critical areas, waiting a moment to air dry before pulling clothes back onto her still damp skin. Then she set about combing her hair, growling at every tangle, working them out roughly with her fingers until her scalp was sore. Samiran groomed himself from the bunk, pausing every now and then to cast a glance at her.

“Killian and the crew worry about us,” he said, at last.

“I know. I heard them talking last night. Some of the crew might start thinking us a burden.”

“So,” Sam replied, “let’s show them we’re not. Finish getting ready and let's go help.”

“The early mornings are going to take some getting used to,” she complained, giving her hair one last tug before pulling it back into a ponytail. “Besides, we need to remind them that we’re not helpless. Nor are we naive. We know how to keep ourselves hidden.”

“Then let’s go.” He pawed at the door and she relented, watching him leap deftly up the steep ladder and out onto deck.

That morning, with the weather fair, she worked the rigging, taking lessons from Midge on the sails and marvelling at how his racoon-daemon navigated the ropes with ease. Samiran, not so apt at tightrope-walking, was strapped to her to avoid any unfortunate mishaps with them so high above the deck. The work was hard. Another rigger was with them and she watched as they opened the last sail, trying her best to keep up with Midge’s instructions before she clambered back down to take her midday meal.

She ate with a mixed group. Scarlet was there with Ursula and Eric and a couple of the deckhands including the young girl who looked to be in her early to mid-twenties. Emma learned that her name was Mulan and, though she was humble, she was also fierce. When the meal was done the girl traded back and forth with some of the other crew, the dagger in her hand brandished with a deadly and fluid accuracy. Her daemon was a tiny firefly named Liang.

As people began to drift away, Emma became more aware of Ursula sitting close at hand and chanced a look at the woman who was chewing on a chunk of tough looking bread.

“So…” Emma started, “you sing.”

The woman flashed her dark eyes Emma’s way and gave a perspicacious smile. “A little.”

“Just a little? That seems a waste.”

“Perhaps.”

Emma gave a frustrated huff at how little the woman seemed willing to engage her. “Well, if my opinion counts for anything, it’s definitely a waste. You’d be better placed on stage singing to the upper classes than on a pirate ship.”

The woman crooked a brow, but made no effort to respond.

Eric did instead, “weren’t you paying attention? Pirates are particularly fond of music. And, from what I gather, they’ve heard this beautiful siren before.”

Ursula frowned at that.

“Aye,” another voice chimed in. Killian joined them with his own share of food, “they’ll be sad to see you go, lass. Ivik and his battered old drum has nothing on you.”

“Who said I’m leaving?” she bit back.

“Well, forgive my assumption. You were here to return your favour, no? I’d say it was fully returned. If you want to stay, however…” he let the sentence hang and, after a moment, the legs of her chair scraped against the floor as she took her leave.

Killian, seeming unperturbed by her quick dismissal, turned to Eric, “I hear you’ve decided to stay.”

Eric nodded, “always did have a calling for the sea. Being here feels right.”

“Glad to hear it, mate.”

“So,” Emma started, “what’s the deal with Ursula? I can’t decide whether she likes you or hates you.”

Killian grinned, “what can I say? I’m a complex man.”

“Well that’s _one_ word for it.”

“Ursula asked for passage on my ship a few years back. I dropped her where she wanted to go and we parted ways...until she turned up with Smee, that is.”

“So, that was the favour?”

“Well...she didn’t have a penny to her name, so in return for her musical talents, she travelled for free.”

“For free? Oh, charming!”

“Hey, love, I returned your payment, if you recall.”

“Wait...so if she returned the favour with music, there’s no debt.” Emma grumbled.

“I guess that solves your conundrum, then.”

“What?”

“She's here because she likes me,” he laughed.

\---

It was late on the first day at port that Killian finally settled in amongst his crew at the local inn, most of them well into their cups by then. Automatically he swept the room for Emma, fully expecting to find her there despite his attempts at warning her away. Strangely, there was no sign of her and he wasn’t sure whether that was more worrying.

If she wasn’t there, did that mean she’d listened and stayed on board? Or had she gone elsewhere?

“We had eyes on her not thirty minutes ago, Captain,” Smee said as he moved to join him.

It was frustrating, in a way, how much his oldest friend could glean from him.

“Where was she?”

“On the ship.” the man confirmed.

Killian narrowed his eyes distrustfully and then gave pause, eyeing the drink cradled in his hand. Perhaps it would be best to forgo the last job of the day and get back to her. Information gathering could certainly wait until the morrow.

But, leaving early could be considered as shirking responsibilities and he knew Emma was already determined not to be seen as a commodity in that regard. She’d be annoyed if he turned in early because he was worried about her welfare.

She could take care of herself, after all.

“How many more did we lose?” Killian asked.

“No more than the ones who bid their leave this morning,” Smee replied. 

They had lost only two crew members that morning, for one reason or another. One of those was Miller, though it was clear that no one was going to miss him much. He’d had useful skills as a medic, of course, but the man had been a bit of a creep and had mostly been avoided.

Perhaps it was that which had sent the man on his way, rather than his dislike of pirate life.

With him had left one of the older of the deckhands that Teach had recruited. Killian imagined it was because he’d been promised recognition which now wouldn’t come - not for a while, at least. On the whole. However, the new deckhands and sailors recruited by the mutinous curr had proved able enough.

“That brings our tally down to thirty-two,” he thought they might have lost more - had, in truth, wanted to get down to about thirty, but there was no helping that. He wasn’t about to turn loyal sailors away and accidents, unfortunately, did happen from time to time.

“So, any news to report?”

Smee nodded, “some. We’ve cleared most of our inventory and found some good buyers for the fabrics, incense and spices that Teach picked up on his travels. That covers all crew earnings plus additional. Gets us off to a good start. There were also animal skins, but we’re better off holding onto those until we reach Sveden.”

“Aye.”

“I recorded all in the log for you, sir.”

He nodded, took a drink, and then asked: “And what of worldly matters?”

“There are some strange rumours flying about,” Smee’s brow furrowed, his voice lowering, “strange talk about gyptians gathering en masse, chartering a ship to take them north.”

“A mass exodus?” His brows rose high in surprise.

“From what they say, just the able-bodied men.”

“Why the bloody hell would gyptians head north?”

Smee just shrugged.

“Maybe Emma will know, she’s had some dealings with them.”

“I think these are more recent turn of events.” Smee replied, not sounding convinced.

Killian had heard no such rumours on his day bartering at market, obtaining the acquisitions needed for their next voyage. Albeit, he’d not had much time to engage in small talk and gossip. Smee, with his bumbling persona and forgettable face was surprisingly talented at prising information from people. Crafty as a rat, of course.

And then Smee was looking off past his shoulder, his face dropping slightly and Killian swivelled just as Emma dropped onto the stool next to him, beaming across at him with a beauty that gave pause to his breath.

She’d tucked all of her hair up into her grey, woollen hat - a remarkable feat, in truth, for how much there was of it. And her garb was certainly new. He looked her up and down, crooking a brow in question. She merely fluttered her eyelashes and turned to the innkeeper to order her own drink.

The slacks were surprisingly well-fitted, cinched at the waist by a leather cord and knotted expertly in place. They were short enough that her delectable ankles were exposed. Her shirt was new, too, a misty-green in shade with a wide collar and unbuttoned sleeves that draped down to her knuckles. Mens clothes, he realised, for women’s trousers were not really commonplace in their part of the world.

Still, the fact that he’d been staring for an inappropriate amount of time spoke volumes. She looked quite fetching, dressed in soft colours that matched her soft eyes. She sipped at her drink and peered up at him through her eyelashes.

He shifted on his stool, growling under his voice about what effect she was having on him, when he realised that she shouldn’t have been there at all.

“I had heard you were on the ship,” he replied, hearing Smee hurriedly slink away from his other side. Apparently someone had been calling for the quartermaster’s attention?

She gave him an impish smile, “I was careful.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a minute.”

There was a moment of silence, then: “Where did you get the attire?”

“Would you believe me if I said I found it on the _Jolly_?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t need to ask, then.” She quipped, hiding her smug smile behind her tankard.

He stared at her. She stared back and, after perhaps a couple of minutes with their eyes narrowed, their smiles widened into something devilish and they stood at once, leaving the inn together.

\---

The following morning, Emma was shadowing Scarlet - who was in charge of overseeing the new provisions onto the ship. Large crates had been deposited on the wharf and, with Scarlet’s direction, Emma helped the able-bodied pirates hoist them, one by one, onto the _Jolly Roger_ , racing to help secure fastenings and support the crates as they were lifted up onto the main deck.

“Just make sure they stay grouped,” Scarlet warned. “The most perishable supplies go in last so that they get used first, got it?”

“Aye, aye.” Emma replied, throwing him a salute.

He returned the mockery with a rude gesture and Sam pounced at the magpie in jest. River ascended to Will’s shoulder with a raspy chatter.

It was hard work and they were only halfway done when she felt the exhaustion start to kick in. Her arms shook as she helped support yet another crate - being careful it didn’t knock against the side of the anchored ship. The weather, which had been fine, now promised rain and, sure enough, as the next crate touched down the clouds opened.

There was a flurry of curses and shouts then and Will’s voice rising above the hammer of the rain, telling them to mind themselves and get on with it.

Her hair - or what little of it that had escaped the confines of her hat - lay stuck to her neck, dark from the deluge, and she was thankful she’d not opted for a white shirt, by the way the thin fabric now clung to her.

Still, despite it all, no one dared question her or asked if she wanted to take a break and she soldiered on with the rest of the crew until the call for the midday meal came.

It took all of her strength not to elbow her way to the front of the queue as she approached. Ivik and Cookson were there today happily informing them of the fresh ingredients they’d managed to get at an absolute bargain price.

And yes, the vegetables may have been a little wilted and the meat a little chewy, but it was the best thing Emma had tasted in weeks. She all but inhaled the food and subtly tried to eye up any leftover scraps on her neighbours’ plates.

Mulan smiled at her but shook her head, wrapping her arms around her bowl protectively. “Don’t look at me, Emma,” she said.

Emma pouted, turning her eyes expectantly to Alex who paused, mid-bite to glare. Still chewing, he edged away from her a little.

“I thought you guys cared,” she grumbled, wondering how ridiculous it would be if she licked the damn bowl.

“Go try your puppy eyes on Cookson.” Eric replied, coming to join them at the table with his bowl.

Alex laughed, “seriously? That’d never work. You know what Cookson’s like. Grumpy old shrew.”

“Well, you aren’t leaving me with much choice, here,” she planted her hands on the table and stood.

“Good luck,” Eric offered with a knowing smile.

She hated to admit it, but they were right. She had barely opened her mouth when Cookson zeroed in on her with that ‘no funny business’ look that so reminded her of Granny. He pointed a ladle at her, dripping beef fat onto the floor and growled. His shrew-daemon, perched on his shoulder, bared her little yellow teeth and ‘eeked’ angrily.

“Ah, fine,” she dropped her bowl in amongst the other used implements and shot her so-called ‘friends’ a glare as she ascended back onto the sodden, slippery deck. Will was already back at work, directing the next lot of crates and she groaned as she moved to join him. It felt, now that she was looking, that more supplies had arrived since her short break for food.

“Come on, Emma. Brighten up, lass. You get to spend the whole afternoon with me!”

She shot him a withering look and took her place.

It was around three o’clock that they had almost done, the rain letting up an hour prior. There were only two crates left now, and one of them was already being hoisted up onto the ship. 

Scarlet was looking down his list and then casting a confused look around, “we’re missing a delivery. I’ll go chase it up.”

He was gone before Emma could even blink.

With a sigh she moved to help Alex, Mulan and one other swab the decks after the recent deluge.

Killian and Locksley emerged shortly after, the pair of them deep in conversation.

“Where’s Scarlet?” he asked when he caught her eye.

“Something about a missing delivery?” Emma ventured.

“Bloody excuses more like,” Killian grumbled.

“Oi, mate, I heard that. Had to go get your bloody chickens, didn’t I?” And sure enough, in ramshackle wooden crates were a dozen scruffy looking hens, followed by a goat tethered to the back of the wagon.

“That everything?”

“Almost. Got more perishables arriving tomorrow, then we’ll be set.”

Emma tried not to groan aloud at the thought of more loading.

“You got a moment, Swan?”

“Sure,” she replied, not wanting to seem too enthusiastic.

“Get the animals loaded, Scarlet, then the day is yours.” Killian added.

Will answered with a brief salute and went back to his work,

“Where are we going? Into the market?”

Killian nodded, “Smee caught wind of some strange rumours yesterday. I wanted to see if we could verify them. Wanted your insight, in fact, since they involve certain people you’re familiar with.”

“The gyptians?”

“Aye.”

“What’s happened?”

Killian told her what he’d heard and she mulled it over, disquieted. It didn’t make sense which meant that likely the rumours had been twisted into something different from the truth.

“So chartering a ship wouldn’t be something they would do?”

“Well...I think they have connections,” Emma replied, “but the rumours make it sound like they’re abandoning their culture. The fens. I just...can’t imagine them ever doing that.”

“Only the men, Swan,” Killian pressed.

“But that would suggest…”

“Aye, love.”

“But what sort of war would have the gyptians abandoning their families to cross the sea? It doesn’t make any sense.”

She was quiet after that, taking a backseat as Killian made idle banter with vendors and patrons; flirting and coercing information out of his helpless targets.

“It’s cos of those kids,” an older, buxom woman replied, handing over some hand-shaped bread that made Emma’s mouth water.

And then, all at once, it made sense. Well. It gave the gyptians a motive.

“Remember what Ruby said?” Emma asked. “What did she call them? Gobblers or something?”

“You think it could be related?” Killian seemed doubtful.

“Gyptians take care of their own. If they’ve tracked down where their kids are being spirited away to, I could certainly believe that they’d go get them.”

“So, potentially it’s a rescue mission, not a war,” Killian replied, “that’s good at least. Shouldn’t interrupt our plans too much.”

“Our plans?”

“We have a lot of dealings with the north,” he shrugged, “sailing into a battlefield isn’t the wisest move for a lone pirate ship, love.”

“We should probably still be careful though…” she pointed out.

“Swan, you wound me. I’m the embodiment of caution.”

She levelled him with a dispassionate look, “oh, really?”

He gave a bark of laughter, “no, not really, but that’s why you love me.” And before she could respond he was sauntering away, leaving her alone with the frightening truth of his words.

\---

The _Jolly Roger_ took a meandering trip through the cluster of islands just off of Scotland. The day was cast with low clouds, obscuring the rocky outcrops until they were nearly upon them. The tussle of the sea had turned fractious, making the going hard and setting them up with delay after delay. With poor visibility and angry seas masking hidden dangers, they’d had no choice but to let the wind out of the sails and slow the ship.

Still, despite the rough winds and the seas that rolled unlovingly beneath their feet, spirits were relatively high amongst the crew. Emma peered up at the riggers currently dealing with the sails, their daemons perched precariously amongst the creaking ropes.

She was thankful that it had not been her duty that day.

She’d spent the morning aiding Cookson in the galley, tending to the livestock and was now halfway through her four hour watch shift, leaning against the starboard rail with a wistfulness, knowing that her parents were just beyond those ridge of mountains, nestled down in the highlands. She wondered how long it would be before she got to see them again. Wondered what Charlie’s daemon would settle as. Something happy and bright, she thought. Full of laughter and joy.

“Snuck you something,” Will startled her from her reverie, setting some small, sweet fruits in her open palm. She noted the marks on the soft skin that suggested River had aided in pilfering them.

“How did you manage that?”

“Was no trouble. I’m an expert. Besides, Cookson should be throwing them at us. A couple more days and they’ll be festering.”

She took a bite into the overly ripe fruit, the juice running down her chin. The sweet taste of the squashy plum was heavenly. “Should have brought more,” she said. “Thank you, River.”

The magpie cackled and fluffed her feathers.

“Hey, _I_ was the diversion,” Will replied.

Ursula came by to relieve her from her post just as they were weighing anchor for the day - deciding not to travel with low visibility and poor weather.

“Enjoy,” Emma replied, throwing Ursula a smile.

The woman flicked her long hair over a shoulder and offered a fleeting smile in return.

It wasn’t much, but to Emma it felt like a victory.

She went to find Killian in his cabin, sitting across from him at his table and reaching for her share of the food that had been put aside for her during her watch. The stew was cold and too mushy but she devoured it, aware of Killian’s amused eyes on her. She’d yet to even greet him further than a nod and a smile.

Sereia, sat on the table, looked equally as amused - or as amused as a cat ever could.

“Worked up an appetite, there, Swan?”

“The poor thing looks positively starved!” Sereia declared; her tone so alike Killian’s.

“More than usual?” Killian replied fondly.

“Well...she didn’t even kiss you before she started eating, so I’d say so.” The cat sounded miffed, giving Emma pause.

She lifted her hand to wipe away some food that she could feel at the corner of her mouth and leaned in to press an easy kiss to his mouth.

“Better?” she teased.

Sereia brightened at that. Positively charmed.

“How are you finding pirate life?”

“Exhausting,” she declared.

Samiran leapt up onto the table to join Sereia, their foreheads meeting in brief but affectionate salutation.

“You weren’t up on the rigging today,” he noted.

“Thank goodness for that,” Emma replied, “that is officially the worst job on board.”

“Midge didn’t sell it to you, then?”

“He has a racoon for a daemon. Jaguarundi aren't such nimble climbers and…” she shuddered, “straps or no straps, the sense of falling is intense. Especially after…” she didn’t finish. They both knew the incident she spoke of, the memory of it still crawling cold, hard dread into her veins. “I say leave the rigging for the birds.”

“Aye, love. Although...the more practise you get, the less the heights will bother you.”

She made a face.

“How about a compromise, then?”

“What would that be?”

“Only in fine weather.”

“I suppose…” she grumbled.

“Come now, Swan. You wanted to become a fully inducted member, if memory serves. A tough lass like you? You can handle it.”

“If I can handle you, I can handle anything. Right?” Her mouth twitched up in amusement.

“Speaking of which...as we’re going to be stationary for the night, there’ll be no shift at the helm for me.”

“What’s this?” She acted surprised, “going to suggest some extracurricular activities?”

“I won’t lie to you, Swan. It will be quite exhausting.” His eyebrows did a ridiculous dance on his forehead.

“Well, if it’ll be worth my while, who am I to say no?”

“Oh it will, love. It will,” he leaned across the table, dragging his knuckles softly against the curve of her cheek - the act so soft it almost stole a sigh from her parted lips.

“It’s a date,” she murmured softly.

\----

She snuck into his cabin with a feeling of giddiness, her quiet steps ensuring that none on deck had seen her slipping towards the captain’s quarters.

“You know that’s not really necessary, right?” Samiran replied.

“Oh, come on. Let me have a little fun with this, alright?”

She shoved the captain’s door open and closed it quietly behind her, the grin so wide on her face that the need to laugh was near unbearable.

Killian eyed her warily from where he was standing by the windows.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she reproached.

“Like what? Like you’ve committed some grand atrocity?”

Shifting her demeanour into something soft and coy, she rounded slowly on him, dragging a fingertip across the top of the table and up his arm.

Likewise, Samiran near mirrored her behaviour, stalking playfully towards Sereia who was preening with delight at the sudden attention.

And then, with something most feline, she uncoiled against his chest, dragging the backs of her fingers up his chest until her arms were slung loosely around his neck. She dipped her head prettily and peered up through her eyelashes at him, swaying her hips until they settled snug against his.

“I haven’t committed any atrocities,” she breathed, “ _yet_.”

“What did you have planned?”

“Something quite sinful, I assure you.”

Turning her palms against the base of his neck, she drew him down into a kiss. A brief, teasing thing that put heat in her belly and set the mood, threading it with thick anticipation.

“Well,” he replied with a flash of teeth, “it seems I am quite at your mercy, love.”

She kissed him again, deliberately keeping it chaste, masking her amusement at his low growl of annoyance.

“Patience, Captain,” she chided, slipping her hands back down the front of his shirt, opening each button in turn - pressing kisses to the newly revealed skin, until he caught her by the crook of her arm and spun her back against the table.

Something clattered to the floor.

“Be mindful of my delicate implements, love,” his lust-wrought expression sent tingles down her spine.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“I mean to have you on this table.”

“We eat at this table,” she reminded him just as he lifted her onto it, slowly easing her knees apart as a stupid grin stretched its way across his face.

“And what, my love, do you think I’m planning on doing now?” and there was his ridiculous eyebrow, taunting her, playing her for all she was worth.

She bit back a groan as he gathered her skirts, pushing them up over her knees until the fabric was bunched at her waist. She often cursed the lack of practicality where skirts were concerned, though at that very moment they were proving quite the epitome of _practical_

Then he was grabbing at her hips and dragging her closer to the edge, taking her by surprise. Her wrist knocked into a glass, sending it onto its side. Thankfully, it was empty, though Killian pulled back to regard her chidingly.

“I said, be _mindful_ , Swan.”

She glared at him, watching as the teasing look came creeping back into his eyes. With a huff she slung her leg over his shoulder and stared down at him, waiting, expectant.

His smirk sent a spear of want into her chest.

Then he was moving and his mouth sent a spear of something else entirely.

Unfortunately, it would be a short-lived thing.

About five seconds later and there was the sound of harried footsteps on the ladder outside, followed by a knock quickly accompanied by the door being pushed open.

It would have been less of a turn-off if a bucket of icy water had tipped over her head. She froze and, in the same moment, Killian pulled away to peer at the intruder.

He was glowering, more annoyed than embarrassed. In fact, not embarrassed at all, going by the look on his face.

There was a beat of silence and then: “Well, man? As you can see, I’m rather busy, right now.” he grated out, gritting his teeth menacingly. “So do you plan to watch or are you going to go back the way you came?”

Emma, very slowly, turned her head to see who had barged in on them.

Smee stood in the doorway, stock still, his face so red that he looked set to ignite. She felt the heat of embarrassment flare, crawling down her neck.

“Smee!” His name, like the crack of a whip, jolted the quartermaster into life again, his whole body jumping as if he’d been struck.

“Sorry, Captain, but there’s a problem.”

“An immediate problem, or one that can wait for - I don’t know - ten minutes?”

“It...uh...seems quite immediate.”

Killian growled, finally getting to his feet, and Smee seemed to take the hint, scurrying up the ladder so quickly he forgot to close the door behind him.

He sighed, his hand and hook trailing to settle on her knees.

“Sorry, love. Seems that duty calls,” he muttered, finally lifting his eyes to meet hers.

She could feel the heat of her embarrassment coming off of her in waves but he kissed her softly, lingering close as he let out a frustrated breath.

“We’ll finish this later. We’ll barricade the door if we have to.”

“I’d like to think he’d be more careful next time,” Emma said, shuffling awkwardly off of the edge of the table and moving to help him do up the buttons on his shirt.

“He knew the risks.”

“Well, it’s not entirely his fault.”

Killian blinked, confused.

“I maybe...sneaked over here without anyone noticing.”

He smiled, though clearly still confused. “Why?”

“Would you believe me if I said, for fun?” she shrugged, “Just didn’t want to alert the whole crew on our...” she waved a hand, “evening activities.”

He laughed at that, drawing her close for a kiss.

“Won’t make that mistake again,” she grumbled, straightening the collar of his shirt.

“How do I look?” he asked with a flourish.

She regarded him through narrowed eyes. His clothes were rumpled, his hair in crazy disarray.

“Like you’ve just been ravished.”

His grin turned wolfish, “Good.”

“I’m coming with you,” she replied, smoothing her skirts and running her fingers briefly through her hair. She imagined she looked far worse than him.

“You could stay here. Entertain yourself while I’m gone.” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“You want to risk finding me asleep when you get back?”

“I’m sure I can come up with some interesting ways of waking you up.”

She snorted, grabbed her coat, and ascended the steep stairway and up into the cold, windswept evening.

\---

The lanterns at the prow had been lit, giving enough light for them to see easily even with the encroaching mists and the late hour. There were a few gathered by the guardrail, chattering quietly. Anxiously.

Emma felt the horrible swell of tension and battled to keep it off of her face as they neared.

With Smee was Locksley and a pirate who must have been on watch at the time. A quiet, simpering man with crooked teeth and a greedy, snappy gull as his daemon. Oddly, Eric was there, too, the line of his shoulders tense. The men all had their backs to them, blocking their view of what had captured their attention so thoroughly.

Killian dismissed the watchman as they merged with the small group and a second later they saw what the fuss was about. What Eric was so entranced by.

Perched on the smooth, wooden rail was a very stern looking seabird, so large that it could only have been an albatross. But it was not just a bird.

It was a daemon.

Emma could not have truly described the unsettled feeling that sent a shudder through her body as she sought the human counterpart who was, apparently, nowhere in sight. The unnaturalness of it stayed with her, even long after.

“I am speaking with the captain now?” The daemon spoke first, turning his head so that he could peer across at Killian with one, dark eye. 

He was a handsome thing, sleek and white enough that he practically glowed under what little light there was. His wings were tucked in tight, grey as a stormy cloud.

“Aye,” Killian replied.

“Eric tells me I should speak to you of my news,” the albatross’ voice had a musical, fluty tone.

Emma and Killian looked at Eric who gave them a wary sort of smile.

“Sorry to interrupt your evening. I just...I thought you needed to hear this in person,” Eric replied, sounding nervous.

“Well, then, what is it?” Killian turned back to the daemon, his voice so casual and unaffected that Emma nearly gawped at him. He was speaking to a daemon without its person.

Was she the only one who wanted to ask him where she was? Had she missed something?

A quick glance around the gathered faces showed they were looking worried, but none of them were asking the question that was on her mind.

The albatross shifted its weight and dipped its yellow-striped beak, looking contemplative for a moment.

“I was sent to locate young Master Eric, to pass on a message. A warning, really. And, as his captain, he thought it only apt that I pass the same message onto you. As I understand it, you mean to travel north?”

“Aye, what of it?”

“There is great adversity in the north. The sky is rent asunder. The seas rage and coil beneath it. The snow upon the zenith has begun to twist rivulets amongst the rock. The very essence of nature is turning.”

When Killian seemed unmoved by the daemon’s speech, the albatross sighed, his cloud-grey wings loosening at his sides. “It is our desire that you do not come to harm. That _Master Eric_ does not come to harm,” he corrected. “That is Ariel’s wish.”

Killian’s attention snapped across to Eric who looked immediately on guard.

“What business do you have, consorting with witches?” Killian replied, his voice holding a dangerous edge.

Emma balked, finally understanding what this strange, detached daemon was. A witch’s daemon. She’d hardly believed such a thing possible, though clearly the pirates around her had known. She supposed living a life on sea, travelling from place to place, such encounters - whilst not common - could be expected. Either way, none of the crew seemed happy about Eric’s affiliation and the young man had clearly known that would be the case - having kept it secret from them until this very moment.

“I’m sorry. Until now, no one had needed to know.”

“I don’t want my ship drawing the eyes of witches,” Killian replied, surprising Emma with his tone. Sereia, perched on his shoulders, arched her back warningly.

The albatross looked indignant.

“I did not expect she would seek me out,” Eric admitted, his voice full of melancholy. 

“Without wishing to sound rude,” the daemon retorted, “I very much doubt any witch in Ariel’s clan would be interested in consorting with _pirates_. Besides, you need not fear them. A friend of Eric’s is a friend of the entire clan.”

Killian did not look convinced.

“I came here only to preserve his wellbeing and, in turn, yours as well.” He turned to look at the dark-haired young man and dipped his head apologetically, “I beg forgiveness if I have caused you grievance, Master Eric.”

“Your warning wasn’t exactly clear,” Killian countered.

“These are uncertain times,” the albatross returned without apology, “if you value your lives, you would do best to avoid the north. The clans gather. There has been fighting and there will be more.” The huge bird-daemon looked at Eric and, after a moment, Maxyn crept forwards, touching her nose to the albatross’ beak. The daemon looked touched at the affection and Emma had a feeling she was imposing on some private moment.

“Take care of her, won’t you?” Eric asked, his voice soft. “Of them both?”

“Always.”

“Will I see you again?”

The albatross hesitated a moment, “I cannot say.”

“Cannot or will not?” Eric asked.

“Farewell, Eric,” was all the albatross said and then he was turning and pushing off of the ship, down to the sea. It was a long moment before the huge bird was airborne, but he did not circle back over the ship as Emma had expected him to. Instead his shape was smothered by darkness, the visual of it more ominous than it should have been.

A violent shudder ran through her and she dared not look at Eric, knowing full well that he’d be wearing a stricken look.

“What do we even do with that information?” Locksley sounded just as irritated as Killian had - though clearly he had not dared voice it to the witch’s daemon in person.

“I don’t like it but we’ve got furs to trade and money to make.”

“We could avoid Trollesund,” Locksley considered, “travel further south, we know a couple of ports there. Smaller, for sure, but if it keeps us out of the trouble those witches have got themselves into…”

“Aye,” Killian seemed to be mulling it over.

“Or we doubleback and head to Groenland.”

“No, the furs won’t be worth a penny there.”

Emma tuned out their conversation, turning back to the sea, peering out hopelessly into the darkness. The witch daemon’s words had stuck with her, filling her with a sense of dread. Samiran was tense, too, his fur bristling, the muscles in his back twitching as he brushed against her leg - refusing to leap up to join her. She took a step back and hauled him up into her arms, turning back to see the others equally as tense. Sereia had hunched down over Killian’s shoulders, her head hidden against his neck. Locksley’s sparrowhawk-daemon was similarly nestled, screeching quietly.

Maxyn whimpered; long, low and sad.

“Does a decision need to be made now?” She asked, interrupting them.

“I won’t have us sailing mindlessly.” Killian replied, “we’ve got stock for Trollesund so we’ll go to Trollesund.”

Eric looked near mortified.

“If the situation looks unsavoury then we’ll follow the land south to one of the smaller ports. For now, I say we risk it. The rewards will be bigger.”

There was a moment more discussion, weighing up pros and cons, until they all agreed their captain was likely right. They didn’t have to commit if it felt like trouble, but they’d be losing out on a lot of money for potentially no reason.

They could at least be on their guard, thanks to the warning from the albatross.

True to his word, when all was said and done, Killian finished what he had started - though they opted for the bunk instead of the table - if only for convenience.

\---

Emma didn’t purposely seek out Eric the following morning. He was on the initial watch, starboard side, and she passed him by with a smile that she hoped he would take as benevolent. Max’s gentle tail-wag was a positive sign, at least.

“What have you got me down for?” Emma asked Smee through a yawn, trying not to be affected by how he tensed and flushed, stammering a little as he told her to join Midge and the riggers in opening the sails. If she didn’t know better, it was punishment for the whole embarrassing situation the evening prior. Still, grumbling under her breath, she tugged her woolen hat tighter down over her ears and went to join Midge, Alex and eight others, those without bird-daemons attaching the safety lines to their harnesses.

The morning was thick with fog but the seas were calm, almost warily so, the sound of the waves muffled as if they were settled on the surface of a mirror.

“Come here, Sam,” she called, kneeling down to shove the leather strap over his head and fasten the buckle behind his forelegs, she gave them a good tug, lifting him by the loop between his shoulders to make sure he wouldn’t slip out. He looked up at her without emotion but she could tell he wanted to tell her not to worry. She slipped into her own harness after that and attached the clip, twisting the locking mechanism so tight that it left deep imprints on her palm and fingers.

Midge came to double-check, giving her a nod of approval before sending her up.

Alex was already high into the rigging, his little seabird daemon perched precariously on the swaying ropes. She was slow in joining him, giving Sam plenty of time to climb himself, knowing how much he hated dangling helplessly from the safety line.

Eventually, when she was in place she balanced her weight and took a moment to breathe. The fog, strangely, had a way of making things feel safer, enclosing them, betraying her senses to make her feel like she wasn’t so high up.

Alex’s daemon took to the air, circling around them as far as she dared.

“You grew up by the sea?” Emma asked as they waited for the others to climb to join them. They’d grown closer since the deaths of Tide and Jack. Found a comfort in it.

“Aye,” he replied, “My pop was a fisherman. Betrys and I went out in the boat with him as soon as I was old enough, along with my brothers.”

“How many brothers did you have?”

“Three others. My poor mam, stuck with the lot of us, stinking the house out with salt and fish.”

Emma smiled, thinking of her own three brothers - including the one she had yet to meet. “Sounds nice.”

“Aye, t’was.”

“Where are they now?”

“All still there, I should think. My brothers helped expand my pop’s business.”

“But not you?”

“Nay, not for me, that fishing lark. I wanted more.”

“I thought you ended up here because you were a nuisance and your mother wanted some peace and quiet,” Emma teased, remembering the fireside stories so long ago.

“That was my cousins,” Alex retorted, “right menaces, I swear. Not me, though. My mam cried when I told her, my pop refused to speak to me. My brothers were torn, I could tell, but they had to side with him din’t they? They gotta work together.” 

“I’m sorry,”

He shrugged, “don’t be. I’m not. Got myself a new family now, ain’t I?”

“Yes,” she replied, “me, too.”

“‘Sides, it could be worse. My eldest brother, his daemon settled as a swordfish.”

“How...how does that work?”

“He lives on the boat.”

“As in...he can’t leave it?”

“Uh huh. He was bloody rotten after that, I tell you.”

Emma shuddered at the thought, being confined to the sea, never able to leave it.

“Was damn well relieved when my daemon settled as a bird.”

“ _Kittiwake_ ,” the daemon responded tartly, settling on the stowed sail and indicating that most of the riggers and sailors were in position.

“Sorry, darling,” Alex blew the bird a kiss and braced himself to release the sail.

Emma grinned and then began the laborious process of releasing the sail carefully and scrambling through ropes to fasten it in place. Midge and another experienced rigger darted about like spiders on a web, inspecting the work of the least experienced and correcting where needed.

That day her work was cleared without fault.

She bumped into Eric again shortly after they had set sail, the fog showing no sign of letting up. He was at the prow again, half-consumed by the low-lying cloud as she stepped up to join him.

“Hey,” she greeted, keeping her tone casual.

Maxyn gave a soft ‘woof’ in greeting as Eric turned to offer her a smile.

“Tell me if you want to be alone.”

“It’s alright,” but he sighed deeply. Sadly.

“I feel like we witnessed something we had no right to, last night. People’s reactions weren’t exactly understanding.”

“Can’t say I blame them. Witches have a bit of a reputation.”

“So I gather. But...not yours, I take it?”

“Mine?”

“Yes...this...Ariel?”

His face grew sadder, still. “Oh, that I wish she were mine.”

Emma, unsure what to say, murmured an apology.

“Don’t worry about it, Emma. I’m not the first to be beguiled by a witch and I won’t be the last. They are...enchanting, ethereal...but we live in different worlds. Even if she could give up her life to live among us mere mortals, I could never ask her to do that.”

“Even for love?” Emma ventured.

He smiled slightly at that, “I think she might have left if I’d asked. But how could I have turned her into an outcast? To be exiled by her sisters?”

“I don’t know much about them, to be honest. It's forbidden to love one, I take it?”

“Forbidden? Not exactly. But...to love a witch is a fruitless endeavour. Generally, they look upon us as children, our lives so short compared to their own. They only involve themselves when there is a need”

“But you love her anyway,” Emma replied.

“Yes. More than anything. She saved my life, you know, when she had no reason to. I wouldn’t trade the time with her for anything.”

“Do you think her daemon will visit again?”

He shook his head, “I couldn’t say. But...there was...a finality about it. I don’t think I will see them again.”

Maxyn whimpered, pressing in close and he turned back to the sea.

Emma slipped away, as quiet as a shadow.

\---

By the evening the weather had taken a turn for the worse, bringing strong winds followed by biting rain that had most of the crew holed up inside. Emma lay on the bunk in the captain’s quarters, Sam stretched out across her belly, running her fingers anxiously through his fur.

The storm had her anxious and the rocking of the ship had grown intense in the past half hour, making her wish she’d holed up with the rest of the crew rather than by herself, the lantern swinging wildly, casting erratic shadows all around her.

“This,” she grumbled, shifting so she was curled up on her side, coiling around Sam protectively, “this is the worst part of being on a ship.”

She felt Sam nod his head in agreement and together they slipped in and out of an uneasy sleep until Killian came to join them in the early hours of the morning, a creeping grey light following in his wake. She heard him discarding clothes. Heard the heavy slap of saturated clothes hitting the deck and growled at him as he slipped - naked and freezing - into the bed next to her, his hair still wet and dripping down his face.

He drew her into his embrace and was asleep before she could say anything at all, so deep that she was surprised when he woke a few hours later as the rest of the crew was creeping back out into the pale light to inspect the damage.

“Are you alright after the rough night?” she asked.

“There’s a lot of work ahead, Swan. We’ve been diverted off course to avoid the worst of the weather but it’s put us behind schedule.”

The more experienced crew seemed tense, the watchers keeping an eye on the sea and any ships that might pass too close. Thankfully, they were sailing just outside of the storm winds now, their speed near unmatched, particularly by the engine-powered ships that faded in and out of view on the horizon. It was hard-going, though, to keep ahead of the game and avoid potential confrontation with ships no doubt decked out with more modern weaponry and defenses.

More than a handful of the crew gave a cheer when Locklsey, up in the crow’s nest, confirmed they had their destination in sight.

And then Emma was joining the assigned riggers in letting out the sails, slowing their momentum across the choppy waves, smiling into the sun, hair whipping around her face. Exhilarated. Her mood light despite the warnings they had been given about avoiding the place.

And half an hour later, the air crackling icily in her lungs, she leaned over the side and watched the crew slowly bring the ship in with an impressive precision. Above the ramshackle buildings sprawling from the docks, she could make out the smooth body of a zeppelin, it’s domed back rising up above the squat buildings that did little to mask its presence.

She moved to join Scarlet as he directed the crew but was brought short as Killian addressed them, “listen up. We’re not lingering here, so make the most of the evening. We set sail first thing. We’ll be selling the furs and the spices here, and that’s it. Scarlet’s in charge of ordering fresh produce, but keep it light. I don’t want to be held up by delays. All of you keep your heads down. If you’re not back, you’ll be left behind.”

It was the right decision, of course, though some of the crew grumbled about it. Trollesund was one of their more favoured spots, from what Emma could gather.

It soon became clear, however, that things were not all as they seemed. There was a horrible sort of tension hanging over everything. The jaunty mannerisms of the locals felt artificial.

Smee joined them at their table at their preferred inn later that day, nursing a tankard of ale, his face looked worried.

“I don’t think we should have come here, Cap’n,” he mumbled.

“No one seems to be saying much,” Killian ventured, “but something happened.”

“There’s talk of a shipwreck between here and Svalbard. Some sort of shift in the climate. The seas. There’s even been cliff-ghasts spotted just off the shore.”

“They don’t come this far south,” Killian reasoned, not convinced.

Emma said nothing. They were speaking about things she knew nothing of.

“That witch daemon was right, though.”

“We’ll be gone by the morning. Our furs sold for triple the price that we would have gotten elsewhere.”

“To kit out warriors, no doubt,” Robin replied, joining them at the table, “armies are gathering, or so I’ve been told. From all over. It’s not something we want to get caught up in. I’ve got a wife to get home to.”

Emma could tell Killian was growing irritated by the sudden jitteriness of his crew - clearly something he wasn’t used to. Pirates were supposed to be fearless, were they not? Then again, Emma supposed that this situation was largely unknown. A war was not on the same scale as any of the most dangerous escapades they had embarked on in the past.

Still, some of the others seemed to be having fun. Scarlet was unashamedly flirting with a beautiful barmaid and on a table close by, some of the younger crew were gambling with the locals.

“Whilst we’re here,” Robin spoke up, clearly sensing the shift in mood, “why don’t you say we show those young’uns how it's done, hm? I could do with the extra cash.”

That had Killian smiling again and, not wanting to be left out, Emma moved to join them, indulging in alcohol, relishing the heat it put in her veins. And for all that she should have been wary, surrounded by people she was getting to know better every day, it was hard not to feel happy.

Safe.

And, just as had been planned, they were sailing away from Trollesund at first light - Killian pointing out the path they would take, down the juncture between Sveden and Brytain to the crest of mainland Europe. From there they would head west to engage in what Killian had called ‘true piracy’.

It felt a long way, looking at it on the faded map.

Out there on the high seas, untied by land. Emma felt both a depth of longing for such a freedom and also a strange, unexpected sadness. The sad realisation that she would not see her newly reclaimed family for a long time.

“We won’t be gone forever, Swan,” he said, reading her like the open book he always said she was.

“I know.” 

“With all the trouble in the north, it's best if we keep as far away from it as we can.”

She nodded, in complete agreement. She’d write to her family, at least, and let them know she was okay. That she missed them.

“Besides, it's probably about time you complete your pirate initiation,” he grinned, “the thrill of the hunt. Chasing down those merchant ships, taking their wealth and their bribes. It’s what we live for, after all.”

“Sounds less daunting than taking back the _Jolly_.”

“Aye,” he agreed, “that it is.”

His smile softened, his hand reaching out to tuck stray hair behind her ear before he kissed her. A warm, lingering thing that had her heart blooming in her chest.

He drew back just a little, the air between their mouths heated, and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone.

Samiran, lying down next to her, gave a delighted rumble - purring her contentment for her.

“I still wonder what I ever did to deserve you, Swan,” he murmured, kissing her again, briefly.

“I can name a few things,” she teased, leaning away when he moved to kiss her again.

“Oh can you, indeed?”

“Uh huh,” she was grinning madly at him, her hand sliding down his chest.

“Swan,” he warned, crooking a brow.

“Let’s skip the part where you pretend you can’t be coerced and just make the most of our limited time, eh, captain?” her voice was low and husky.

He made a show of looking like she was twisting his arm before he pounced at her, pinning her to the bunk.

\---

They had been sailing for two days, navigating through the empty seas in search of their quarry, when she overheard Killian talking to his officers about their next stint on land.

“Ahoy there, Captain,” she teased, giving him a slight bow as she dropped down into his quarters, “what is this I hear about making for land?”

“Ah not for a while yet, but I’m nothing if not thorough.”

“Mm,” she agreed with a smile, sliding into his lap, hands finding their way to the lapels of his beaten leather coat.

“Some of the crew are going to be promoted to mates.”

“Oh?” she replied, her tone provocative, “let me guess. I’m going to become your first mate?”

His answering grin was concupiscent, “You will always be my _first mate_ , love. Just...not in an official capacity.”

Democracy and all that.

She huffed, “so, if I’m not getting a promotion, who is?”

“Midge is being assigned as first mate to Scarlet and Eric is being assigned as Robin’s.”

“Eric? Really?”

“Aye, really. Don’t look at me like that, Swan.”

“He’ll be surprised. I think he was shocked you didn’t just abandon him at Trollesund after that daemon paid us a surprise visit.”

He sighed, “he loves a witch, Emma. I’ve heard enough stories to know I don’t ever want to cross paths with one. However, so long as he remains in their good graces, his presence here may be more boon than hindrance. His witch clearly wants to keep him safe.”

“Well, if it helps, I don’t think Eric is expecting to see his lover again any time soon. If ever, actually - though I do hope he does, someday.”

Killian did not reply.

“Is there a reason you’re promoting now?”

He looked at her a moment then nodded, “thinking ahead to when we next make port in Brytain.”

“Oh?”

“I was thinking...well, if you wanted company when visiting your parents again, I would like to come with you. knowing that the _Jolly_ is in safe hands would make it easier to do so.”

“You’d come with me?”

“Only if you want me there.”

She did. She _really_ did. But…

“...What about your ship? Is it okay to leave her, even with a good crew?”

“She’ll likely need some maintenance after a long voyage, that’ll keep her in situ for a while. But a captain can take some shore leave if there is a need. And, if the officers have the confidence of the crew, there’s really not a lot to worry about. Especially now after everything we’ve been through.”

“Visiting my parents is reason enough to leave your ship?” she raised a brow skeptically.

“Of course, Swan.”

She felt choked by the earnestness of his response. “But…it seems a risk. To leave your ship after being parted for so long.” 

How could he even bear it? 

“How many times will you have me say this, Swan?”

She blinked at him.

“You are everything. I’d give it all up for you.”

“What?”

“This,” he waved a hand in a general indication of the ship, the sea, the sky. His home. His family. Everything. “All this.”

“I’d never ask you to do that,” she replied, sounding startled and, strangely, afraid.

“But I would. I could learn to live without this ship, love, but I couldn’t learn to live without you.”

“You’re rather stuck with us,” Sereia added fondly.

“I love you, Emma,” he said, the words so serious and utterly heartfelt that for a horrible moment she thought she was going to cry. The words stuck in her throat as she tried to keep her emotions at bay, battling to respond.

Desperate to tell him what they both already knew.

But, it was Samiran who moved first, stepping over her arm to rub his head up against Killian’s knuckles where his hand rested against the desk. The unexpected contact sent a thrill through Emma’s very being, stealing the breath from her lungs and setting her heart racing. And then she watched in awe as Killian’s own shock warped into something akin to reverence. 

His gaze flickered briefly to hers, as if to seek permission, and then his fingers relaxed and tentatively stroked along the chestnut cat’s ears. 

Emma could barely breathe, the sensation something quite indescribable, leaving her feeling heavy, content and warm. The exact opposite of what she’d imagined.

And then something nosed at her elbow and she looked down to see Sereia gazing up at her with those beautiful, _beautiful_ eyes. Eyes like polished amber. Eyes that felt all-knowing. Instinctively she reached out to touch the silken, black fur - the texture of it so soft and fine compared with the coarseness of Sam’s.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, she lifted her eyes to find Killian watching her, looking dazed and content and completely besotted - colour high on his cheeks.

She whispered something - his name, perhaps - and then he was leaning towards her, breathing out an ‘I love you’ before he kissed her, their daemons extricating themselves from their sudden embrace.

But this time, instead of being drawn into endless kisses, she rocked her mouth away from him, forehead pressed to his, and urged the words on her tongue to finally, _finally_ fall free.

“I love you, too.”

_He’d sooner be parted from his ship than with her._

He kissed her breathless, the ship swaying gently beneath them and eventually, she drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat, only to be woken the following morning to an excited clamour that had both of them rising, dressing quickly and hauling themselves up onto the deck.

“We’ve found one, Captain!” Ivik yelled from his place on watch.

Robin handed Killian his spyglass and Emma watched his face shift from curious to eager in a matter of seconds. He turned to her, set the heavy spyglass in her hand and waited for her to take a look.

The ship came into view, a stout thing moving at a steady pace; sails full, belly low in the water. Ripe for the picking.

“Is it a goodun?” Scarlet called from where he was hung in the rigging.

“Aye, it’s good. Raise the flag. I’ll take the helm. Ready your arms, ladies and gentlemen, let’s cause a stir!”

The hoax flag was hoisted up into place, its friendly colours a ripple in the sea air, feigning their intentions until the last minute. Emma knew the theory, at least. And as she raced to take her place with the others, helping pass around the weapons and taking her position, a thrill ran through her.

This was what it was to be part of a pirate’s crew. This was what it was to be a part of something. To have something that was hers. Finally. _Finally._

And as they raced across the sea, chasing down their fortune, she felt her heart soaring.

At long last she belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the short epilogue to follow. Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

She’d written ahead this time and knowing that her family expected her by a certain day was somehow even more nerve-wracking. She was committed now. No turning back, lest she be willing to break their hearts. And besides, when she shoved away her apprehension - locked it away in a box to be ignored - she _wanted_ to visit. Wanted to stay for as long as feasibly possible.

It had been just shy of ten months since their first meeting and the land was still pressed under the heavy, oppressive heel of winter. The land was cold and grey and though the snow was patchy, the bite of the cold was palpable.

She had layered up for the trip and was glad for it. Glad, too, for the warmth of Killian pressed against her side, his head lolled back as he slept. Sereia was tucked inside his coat, curled up tight against his ribs. 

The train journey hadn’t been particularly long but their last few weeks at sea had been gruelling. Stormy seas, weeks of relentless rain and journeys fraught with other dangers. They’d lost two crew members overboard one night and she remembered the paralysing terror as the ship rocked perilously beneath her feet.

So she let him sleep in the otherwise empty carriage until their station, content to watch him. Tracing the line of his throat and jaw with her eyes. Wanting to kiss the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Wanting to reach out and smooth down the tufts of rebellious hair.

“Ours is the next stop,” Samiran declared through a yawn. His nose was pressed to the window, his paws alighted on the sill, watching the landscape pull away as they left the penultimate station behind.

She settled a hand on Killian’s cheek and turned his head gently towards her, “hey, we’re almost there,” she whispered.

He came around slowly, blinking dazedly before fixing her with a sleepy smile that sent a rush of delighted warmth through her.

She kissed his mouth, smiling back.

“How long have we got?” he asked, straightening in his seat and stretching the kinks out of his back and neck.

She shrugged, “the train is supposed to get in at midday, so about fifteen minutes.”

“Listen, whilst we’ve got a moment alone, I have something for you.”

She blinked, confused.

“A gift,” he clarified, fumbling momentarily in his pocket.

“Did I miss something?”

He shook his head, amused, “no, my love. I never require an occasion to bestow gifts upon my beloved.”

Rei nodded in agreement, uncoiling herself as she stepped neatly out of his coat and perched upon his knee. She nudged her head up against the underside of the wooden box that Killian was now holding out.

The box that looked, suspiciously, like it might contain jewellery.

Killian laughed, “relax, Swan. This is not a proposal.”

She gave a nervous sort of laugh in response and took the gift, hating how obvious her thoughts must have been.

“Trust me, love. When I _do_ propose, it will be in a far more romantic setting than this.”

Her heart pounded as she opened the lid and set eyes on the circle of silver nestled against the pocket of velvet. Her throat tightened and for a moment she could only concentrate on not crying.

Killian must have taken her silence as a bad sign but she hushed his stuttered explanations immediately with a breathy: “stop, it’s wonderful.”

At last, she lifted the pendant out of the box and ran the pad of her thumb against the delicate engravings.

It was a swan - much like the one lost to her now - but so different the two could hardly be compared.

There were no diamonds or jewels set into its intricate design, nothing to detract from the fine detail of engraved feathers. Its wings and neck arched upwards to complete the circle in a stance that was proud and powerful - quite unlike the meek and submissive swan of the Blanchard crest.

It was beautiful.

She blinked rapidly, tearing her eyes from the pendant to look up at him. Saw the nervousness written all over his face and thrust forward to kiss the worry from his expression.

He chuckled against her mouth, clearly relieved.

“It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you. Would you help me put it on?”

At his nod, she reached to hold her hair back and turned so that he could fasten the clasp for her, his fingers sparking electricity where they touched against her neck. The pendant hung low, just disappearing into the neckline of her shirt, warming heavily against her breast.

A reminder. A promise.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

She pulled him in for another kiss when Samiran announced their impending arrival, both cats turning to look at them from where they were braced against the window.

Emma drew back; the familiar nerves creeping back in.

“We can stay for as long as you need, love.”

She nodded, knowing he meant it.

“Ready?”

She nodded again, hauling her rucksack up onto her back and waiting as he looped his satchel across his shoulders. He held out a hand for her and she took it gratefully, sliding her fingers between his and moving to step out onto the platform side by side.

Thankfully the station was not busy and when the initial activity died down, it only took a moment for them to find Mary Margaret. Or rather, for Mary Margaret to find them. She called out excitedly, waving madly at them from the doorway of the station, the collar of her coat pulled up against the wind.

“They’re here! They’re here!” she was shrieking, turning her head momentarily to look behind her.

And then Charlie was bursting onto the platform, his daemon scampering ahead of him with excited flicks of her luxuriant tail.

“Emma! Emma! Aredhel settled!”

And the boy lunged at her, nearly knocking her from her feet, his daemon - a red squirrel - bouncing excitedly at Samiran’s paws.

“She’s wonderful,” Emma beamed, ruffling the boy’s hair, “and you’ve shot up since I last saw you. What have they been feeding you?”

He shrugged, his easy smile turning bashful.

“My babies are all grown up,” Mary Margaret declared as she moved to join them, voice thick with emotion. She pulled Charlie in against her side and squeezed his shoulders playfully, acting hurt when he complained and wriggled free.

Then she stepped forward and gathered Emma in her arms - a more gentle embrace than their first but not without great warmth.

“Oh, Emma, it’s so good to have you home.”

“It’s good to be back,” she replied softly.

And then another pair of arms joined the huddle - nearly lifting both women from their feet.

“We’ve missed you,” David added.

“We were very excited to get your letter,” Mary Margaret continued.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t have visited sooner,” Killian pitched in, sounding deeply apologetic, though he had made no promises of when they would return.

“You got her back here safely. That’s all that matters,” Mary Margaret replied, moving forwards to greet him with a motherly embrace that had Emma’s smile widening across her face.

“Has it been a rough year, sweetheart?” David asked quietly, squeezing her shoulders.

“Life on the sea isn’t easy,” she admitted, “but I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

It was maybe the wrong thing to say. David’s face fell just slightly, giving hint to the fact that, maybe, he’d been entertaining the thought that Emma might decide to stay this time. But Emma knew, if that day ever came, it wouldn’t be for a while yet.

“Well, for as long as we have you, let’s make the most of it,” David turned her towards the exit, “James is minding the farm and Leo should be back from his studies in a few days time. He’s been desperate to meet you.” And then in a more grumbling tone: “apparently he’s bringing his ‘lady friend’, too.”

“ _Fiance_ , David,” Mary Margaret corrected, sliding in to loop her arm through Emma’s.

Emma blinked, “is that new?”

“Yes. It has moved pretty fast. They’ve known each other for less time than you two have.” Mary Margaret continued, giving them an appraising look that she pointedly ignored.

“Maybe she’s pregnant,” Emma declared loudly.

She heard Killian barely hold in a snort of amusement and David turned to stare at her, looking more than a little horrified at the insinuation.

Mary Margaret burst into delighted laughter, hushing her husband’s complaints that he was not yet old enough to be a grandparent.

And Emma settled into the feeling of her mother at her elbow and her father’s arm across her shoulders. Felt the peace of it flow through her.

She peered back at Killian, who was following dutifully behind them, and smiled at his brief touch against the small of her back.

And even as her parents playfully quarrelled back and forth and Charlie regaled Killian with one of his vivid stories, she did not miss Sam’s murmured declaration to Sereia.

“This is just perfection, Rei.”

And it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! Completed! Thanks for sticking with me until the end! 
> 
> I'm currently working very slowly on one other story which will be posted once I've completed the first draft. And, whilst I've not written or truly planned a sequel, I do have some ideas for one, which means I won't rule it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feedback would be loved!


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